


Way Down We Go

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-01-28 01:51:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12595432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The elvenking is recovering from his burns after battle with the Serpents of the North. This has sunken him deeper into the reclusive state he has been in since the disappearance of his wife and queen. Mirkwood sinks further into desolation with the king but can he be pulled from the ashes of his grief.





	1. Chapter 1

You could have screamed as the healer spread the cool salve along your ragged flesh, or what was left of it. From shoulder to finger tips, your skin had been burned away, leaving singed black remains tinged with the mottled red and black of your muscles. You gritted your teeth as the elder, Lorath, finished plying his medicine, the act of wrapping your arm even more painful.

“You are more fortunate than many,” He sighed, fatigue showing despite his elvish stoicism, “Two more succumbed to the fire’s ravages this night.”

You nodded grimly, letting your arm fall to your side, your silken sleeve falling into place over the dressing. “And the king?” You asked.

“He is as he was,” Lorath stood, “It would seem however, the damage is more than superficial.” He packed away his bandage and salve, another deep breath let out slowly as his chest compressed, “I must be off.”

You watched the healer depart, his head held high despite his exhaustion. You dug your heel into the carpet as you thought, the searing still nipping at your flesh. The last you had seen Thranduil, he had been shrouded beneath a cloak, hidden from his soldiers as he was carried from the battlefield. He had been burned as many others had but the extent to which was carefully concealed.

Even you, his own sister in law, had not been permitted to see him. Not that you had seen him often before. Since his wife’s disappearance, your sister Ileen, he had been scarce. Hiding away in his solar or chambers, giving order through his chaplain and barring most from his presence. It was a wonder he had chosen to appear to fight a war. A war which had taken its toll.

You rose from your chair, pacing the carpet until it was warm beneath your bare feet. You tucked your toes into silken slippers, awkwardly shoulder a cloak, and set off down the desolate corridor. You were restless, as you had been for the days since the battle, and it was better to distract yourself than linger in your despair.

Ileen’s face appeared before you as you roamed carelessly. You missed her. Her fair hair, her rosy cheeks, her ever-present smile. There was nothing left of her. Nothing but her son, who was just ahead of you, sneaking around past his bedtime. His long silver hair was tangled as he pattered along the hallway, his hand upon the wall and his footsteps light. You tisked and he turned to you startled.

“Legolas,” You greeted, disapproving but not unkind, “What are you doing wandering around on your own?”

“I wanted to see my father,” His voice was willowy, “But he won’t let me in.”

“Well, sweetie, your father’s sick,” You put your hand on his shoulder, “But you can see him soon. Just not tonight.”

“Why not? Lorath goes to see him and that dumb footman,” He whined, “He doesn’t love me…not since naneth—”

“He loves you,” You assured him, “More than anything. You’re his son, Legolas. He loves you.”

“Is he—Is he alright?” A shadow of fear fell over your nephew’s angelic features; he looked so much like his mother, “No one will tell me what happened and Lorath just shoos me away.”

“Your father is just fine,” You offered your uninjured hand to the young prince, “Come on. How about we get you to bed and I promise I’ll talk to your father and make certain all is well. If I can, I’ll make sure you see him within the week. Alright?”

“You promise?” He eyed your hand suspiciously.

“Have I ever lied to you?” You did your best to smile, “Now, let’s go. It’s late and I haven’t got time to waste, have I?”

“Fine,” He took your hand reluctantly and let you lead him down the hallway, “Aunt Y/N,” His voice was perilously quiet, “I miss naneth.”

“Me, too,” You tried not to frown, keeping your gaze ahead of you as his words stoked your own grief, “Me, too.” You inhaled deeply as he tightened his grip on your hand and you looked over to find his eyes sparkling with tears, “Do you remember how she used to take you to the woods and practice with you?”

“Yes, I remember,” His voice nearly cracked as he answered and he sniffled, “I dream about it every night.”

“What do you say we take your bow and go tomorrow morning? First thing,” This time you found yourself squeezing his hand, “We’ll pack a basket and eat there, too.”

“I—I’d like that,” You were gladdened to see his lips twitch upwards, “Will you bring your bow, too?”

“I will…though I’m not sure I can use it as of yet,” You shook your head, “You’ll make a fool of me out there.”

You said good night to Legolas with a kiss upon his forehead before watching him disappear behind his chamber door. You were relieved to see him off with a smile rather than tears. All too often the elfing was somber in his demeanour. Though he held the same stoicism as his father, his gloom was all too apparent in his pale eyes. Before his mother had perished, he had been the most cheerful child you had ever seen.

Out of habit, you made to cross your arms in your anxiety, pondering your looming meeting with the elvenking. You withheld a shriek, instead grunting through your clenched jaw as your arm was consumed with pain. You had vowed to Legolas to see to his father and yet you knew it was not so easy done as said.

Not far from the prince’s chambers, you stopped before the king’s. In the days before your sister’s disappearance, the corridor was ever bustling with the business of the realm. Counselors and their attendants met with Thranduil and carried out his orders. Since, Mirkwood had grown lifeless and nobles went about their work carefully, waiting for their monarch to rise from the ashes and rule again. Waiting, or at least, hoping.

You knocked with your good hand, teetering on your toes as you awaited a response. None came, and you knocked louder, still without answer. As your nerves fluttered, you reached out and slowly pressed the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked. You pressed inward and stepped into the darkened chamber with a suppressed gasp. The air was still and cold, a sense of melancholy so palpable it was suffocating.

You looked to the canopied bed and it appeared to be empty. You neared the carved oaken posts warily, holding your breath as you came in sight of the king in his lethargic repose. His face was wrapped in bandage, his silver eyes piercing from between the gauze and his mouth barely visible. The only hint of his identity was his long silver hair which streamed out from below the dressings.

“Who’s there?” He hissed and turned to you, his movement slowed by pain, “Oh, it’s you. By what authority do you sneak into my chambers thus?”

“The prince’s,” You replied plainly, “He wants to see his father.”

“Well, I don’t want to see him,” Thranduil retorted, “Nor you. You’ve always been far too brash. The gull of you coming in here without—”

“With all due respect, you’ve not a right to scold me when you refuse the presence of your own child,” He was right in his accusation, but you were no less in your intrusion, “You’re all he has left. His mother—”

“His mother is gone,” Thranduil snapped, “I know it well and I needn’t be reminded. I’m in no condition to be harangued.”

“I will be bringing your son to see you tomorrow afternoon,” You declared without hesitation, “Whether you will it or not.”

“The doors will be barred,” He sat up and you noticed the bandage down his chest and across his shoulder peeking out from beneath the silk of his robe, “I don’t want to see him.”

“Oh? Or do you not want him to see you? You’re his father—”

“I’m his father and he should not see me like this,” He fell back against the headboard, “No one should…You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, I am,” You looked around at the dim chamber, the only light was that of the moon streaming in from between the drawn curtains, “Someone needs to be.”

You found a lamp as you paced the floor, lighting it wordlessly as you inspected the tray of food untouched by the king. You crossed to the hearth and struck up a fire, warming your fingers momentarily before turning back to the king. He remained in his bed, unmoving as he leaned against the headboard though his eyes followed you.

“Are you going to eat?” You picked up the fork and poked at the cold carrots, “I’ll have a warm plate brought up.”

“I’m not hungry,” He insisted as he watched you pick up on of the half dozen empty bottles of wine; the odor of alcohol stringent in the frigid chamber, “Wine would be appreciated, however.”

“I daresay you’ve had more than your fill,” You counted several more bottles littered around his bed, “If you had the sense to eat, you’d likely bring it right back up at this rate.”

“Do not lecture me,” He looked away, examining his long fingernails with disinterest.

“I’m not lecturing, I’m merely telling you what you should already know,” You reprimanded.

“Your relation to my wife does not grant you the right to speak to me so,” He growled, “She is dead, as it is, so I see little reason why should linger in my kingdom.”

“I could think of one,” You were want to cross your arms once more but caught yourself before committing the agonizing mistake once more, “And you would refuse to see him.”

Thranduil rolled his sharp eyes, the insolent gesture obvious even through his dressings. You scowled at him as you neared his bed once more, a hand on your hip to cull your displeasure. You bit your lip as you considered him and shook your head, “You’re more of a child than Legolas.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” He scoffed and closed his eyes, “Now, I haven’t the energy for you. I must sleep.”

“Hmm,” You narrowed your eyes, “Surely you must. You’ll need it if you’re to receive the prince tomorrow.” You smirked though he could not see it, “I should expect this place tidied by then…perhaps, open the curtains and let some sun in, too.”

“You may go,” He dismissed with a wave of his fingers, “You tire me.”

“And you, me,” You contended, “Until tomorrow.”

You turned on your heel and marched to the door, looking back briefly as Thranduil let out an exaggerated sigh. Ileen would be proud of you, though her own approach would have been gentler. She had always chided you for the friction between you and her husband, but for her sake and her son’s, you would endure him.


	2. Chapter 2

You kept hold of your bow, using it to aid in your traction over the leafy forest floor. Legolas’ pale blonde hair flitted ahead of you, searching out the perfect spot for your practice. The crispness of morning had begun to dull, and the sun peeked through the branches overhead, warming you through your thin cape.

The trees grew sparse and the ground plateaued into a clearing bathed in the pale yellow of early light. Legolas stood center, smiling over expectantly as you appeared through the tree line. He was quick on his feet, and already it was difficult to track him. In that, he had taken after Ileen. His elvish agility came natural and he was nearly as clever as your sister, too.

For a moment, you saw her standing before you, that same smile, that same determination. Then, she faded and your own joy with it as the loss of her descended upon you starkly. At times, you forgot she was gone, but not for long. It was like losing a piece of yourself, worse even than the prospect of the burns which had deformed your arm. You’d give the limb in an instant to have Ileen there with you. To have her look upon her son and see how much he had grown already.

“Well, is this the place?” You asked, leaning on your bow, “It’s a fine choice, if I do say so myself.”

“I think so,” He began to inspect the clearing, walking along the tree, stopping short before the tallest. He reached out and picked at the bark with his finger. He set his palm flat and closed his eyes, lowering his head solemnly as you neared curiously, “Naneth would bring me here…” He moved his hand to reveal the scars left in the tree, “She taught me better than the arms master. She didn’t yell at me.”

“Your mother always was skilled with arrows,” You mourned, “I could never match her…well, not with a bow.”

“Did you speak with father?” Legolas turned to you and suddenly he was the spit of Thranduil; imperious, unbending, stringent.

“I did,” You lifted your bow and tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the tip, “When we return, we will go see him.”

“Truly?” He was a child again, his silver eyes widened with glee, “Oh, Aunt Y/N, thank you.”

 _Don’t thank me just yet,_  you thought, turning away to hide your trepidation. “A prince must see the king when he wishes,” You declared, “He must also keep to his practice,” You swung around, planting your bow in the dirt, holding it like a royal staff, “So, Legolas, let me see what your naneth taught you.”

Legolas took his bow from his back and skipped towards you, setting himself opposite the great tree as he drew his first arrow. He smirked at you as he placed it in his bowstring and turned to aim, swiftly notching and releasing the arrow so that it whistled sharply into the bark of the tree. There had been little consideration in his shot, and yet it had hit true. It was pure skill, that which he had inherited from his mother, honed by precise training.

“Very well,” You praised, “Again.”

He loosed another arrow and another. Releasing them as you nodded your approval until his quiver was empty. You smiled as you admired his marksmanship from afar and stepped up next to him, ruffling his hair to his chagrin. “I fear, Legolas, it is my turn to make a fool of myself.”

He chuckled and stepped aside as you took an arrow from your own quiver, taking your bow in your burnt hand with a grunt. It hurt but you trusted that you could bear the pain for at least a couple shots. You set your arrow in the bowstring and lifted the bow, pulling taut the bow as agony rippled up your arm and you dropped the weapon with a cry.

You cradled your bandaged arm as the arrow skidded off the ground and the bow dusted up the dirt in a clatter. Legolas touched your other arm gently, looking up at you in concern as you tried to keep tears from flowing. It was much worse than you had thought. You had become so use to the pain that you had underestimated the damage done.

“Aunt Y/N, are you alright?” His former joy had disappeared, and he was once more that sullen elfling; scarred from loss and desolation, “I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologize, it’s not your fault,” You said through gritted teeth, “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s my own doing. I should know my limits.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” He murmured, “I…no one told me of the battle. Of what happened. I’ve only seen the wounded and none will speak to me. Is my father badly hurt?”

“Your father is wounded but he will survive,” You assured him, stepping past him to rest upon a large flat stone, suddenly exhausted from the torment biting at your flesh, “He was burned as I was. We came across fire serpents and not all were so fortunate as us. The flame was…” You paused as you thought back to the unwavering heat blackening your flesh, “Unyielding. One is lucky to put it out before it consumes them whole.”

“Oh,” Legolas gulped as he stared at you frightened, “May I…see?”

“Oh,  _nessa er_ ,” You grieved, “I do not think it’s a good idea. It is quite a gruesome sight.”

“Please, I…I want to be ready to see father,” He pleaded, “I don’t want to be afraid.”

You stared at him glumly. Whether you showed him or not, he would not be prepared to see his father as he was. But he was wise enough to know that he would not be the same. You wished Ileen was here for him, she was always better than you in these situations.

“Alright, but I warn you, it’s not a pretty sight.”

Slowly, you unclasped the bandage and unwound it from your hand, the act alone caused you to wince. As you unraveled it further, you uncovered your blackened flesh and were sickened by the patches of exposed muscle. Legolas stepped back with a gasp and you looked up, breathing heavily as the air nipped painfully at your arm.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” You began to replace the bandage, but Legolas stopped you, his hand on your arm as he stared at your burns.

“No, I…wanted to see it,” His voice was brittle, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you do that. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, _nessa er_ ,” You rewound the bandage around your wrist and hand, “You could never hurt me.” You secured the end of the dressing and steadied yourself with a sigh, breathing out the reverberations in your arm. “Would you be a dear and retrieve my bow for me? I think I’ll just sit and watch.”

“Of course,” He nodded obediently and turned to gather your discarded weapon. You watched him anxiously as you wondered over your planned meeting with Thranduil. You weren’t sure the elfling was ready to see his father, but you _had_ promised.

* * *

Legolas was noticeably eager on your trek back to the palace. He led the way with lofty steps as you trailed, trying to hide the discomfort which had never left your arm. Upon the steps of the palace, he waited for you to catch up and took your good hand in his. The warmth of his palm against yours reassured you and you smiled despite yourself.

“Now, Legolas, I don’t want you to get too excited,” You warned, “Your father is still recovering and he might be a bit…” You tried to think of a cordial way of describing Thranduil’s malice.

“Miserable,” Legolas finished for you, “It wouldn’t be so different than before.”

“No, I guess not,” You agreed, “But he is healing, and it had not made him any nicer.”

“You’re trying to say that my father’s an asshole,” He asserted snarkily, “I already knew that.”

“Legolas, don’t you speak so,” You reprimanded though you truly wanted to laugh, “But yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Well, I’m used to it by now,” He shrugged, “You needn’t worry so much, Aunt Y/N.”

Assured that he was as ready as he could be, you led the prince to his father’s chambers and stopped before them apprehensively. Staring at the royal arms which decorated their face, you squeezed Legolas’ hand before letting go reluctantly. You braced yourself as you hovered your fist before the door, finding the strength to knock. Before you could, however, the prince hammered at the door incessantly and you looked down at him in shock.

“ _Nessa er_ ,” You hissed, “What are you—”

“Go away,” A familiar voice came faint from the other side.

“Well, he’s awake,” Legolas grinned and you shook your head at him, “Should we knock again?”

“Little good it would do,” You knew Thranduil hadn’t the strength to answer, “We’ll go in and hope for the best.”

As you had the night before, you pushed into the room without welcome, this time with Legolas at your heels. The chamber was as grim as before and you huffed at the shadow of the king lingering in his bed. “Legolas, find some flint and get the lamps going. I’ll open the windows.”

The prince set to his task without delay as you pulled back the drapes with your single arm. It was awkward but after a few tries, both windows glowed with early afternoon sunlight.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thranduil barked from his bed and you turned to him with a scowl, “I told you I did not want you here.”

“Your son is here to visit,” You declared, Legolas lighting the lamp upon the tabletop, “Whether you like it or not.”

The king snarled and reached for his bedside table. Before he could grab the bottle atop it, you whisked it away and tisked. “What did I say about the wine?”

“As I recall, I’m the king of Mirkwood,” He retorted.

“So, act it,” You reproached, “And talk to your son.” You turned to Legolas who was watching silently, “Grab a chair, Legolas, and sit with your father while I clean this place up.”

You unhooked the latch of the window and dumped the wine from it as Thranduil ignored his son to protest the disposal of his wine. You began to gather the rest of the empty bottles, turning back to the grim sight of father and son before you passed into the corridor. After disposing of the bottles, you returned with a crate to clear the rest and the remnants of the king’s untouched meals.

The same silence met your entrance, Thranduil having closed his eyes to his son. “Father,” Legolas squeaked, “Father.” The prince was desperately trying to force his father’s attention.

You set the crate on the table and crossed to the bed, stopping yourself from the mistake of crossing your arms. “Open your eyes, you lump,” You could not hold back your anger, “It’s the least you could do.” The king ignored you and feigned slumber.

“Forget it, it’s not worth it,” Legolas moped as he stood, “He doesn’t care at all. He just lays there and ignores every word I say.”

“He should care! He should care that his son is growing so wonderfully,” You said pointed, “That he’s a fine prince and even better shot. He should care that you are the heir of Mirkwood and, as it stands, would already be a preferable ruler to him. He should care!”

“Aunt, please,” Legolas begged, shocked at seeing you so enraged, “I just want to go. I’ve already lost my naneth, it wouldn’t be so different without him, too.”

“Don’t say that,” You snapped, “Open your eyes!” You commanded as you turned back to the bed, “Open your eyes now!”

Thranduil obeyed but revealed a dangerous glare as he looked up at you. “Be you my sister-in-law or not, I could have you tried with treason.”

“What is wrong with you?” You hissed, “Ileen would be appalled.”

“Don’t talk of her,” You shrieked against your will as suddenly you felt a stab in your forearm, and you realized Thranduil had grabbed you, “You’ve not the right.”

“She. Was. My. Sister.” You protested through gasps, trying to free yourself only to cause further agony, “Let go of me.”

“You need to recall your station, Y/N,” He tightened his grip and you cried out once more.

“Let go of her,” Legolas pushed close to the bed, trying to push away his father’s arm, “Let go.”

Thranduil easily ignored his son’s resistance and you tried to keep the elfling away but could not reach with your other arm. The king, trying to shrug off the prince, loosened his grip enough for you to bend back his fingers and rescind your arm. You stepped back, seizing Legolas as you did and urged him away. You held him shakily as your head spun. You were so overcome with pain you feared you would pass out.

“I’m sorry, Legolas,” You whispered, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” He said in a stony tone, “It’s his.” He looked around you with a sneer, “Please, let’s just go.”

“You go on and find Milin,” You kept your voice low, “Get him to make you some lunch, alright? I’ve got to finish cleaning this place up.”

Legolas stared at you doubtfully before bowing his head. “Alright, Aunt Y/N,” He relented, “Be careful.”

“I’ll be fine,” You assured him and nudged him towards the door, “Now, go on.”

Slowly, Legolas retreated, and you watched the door close behind him. You took the crate and began to load empty bottles and stack putrid dishes within it. It was only as it was close to full that you thought of the pain of having to carry it. As it was, your arm was still ringing with the pain of the king’s assault.

You looked to him and found that he was watching you closely, the scowl not leaving his face. “Just leave me.”

“When I’m finished,” You insisted as you continued your work, “And there is much to be done.”


	3. Chapter 3

“From here on out, the king is to have no more wine,” You commanded the king’s attendant, Alic, “Water only. If he thinks it’s bland, add some lemon to it. When he takes his meals, you are to fetch me first so that I can sit with him and make sure he eats.”

You had spent much of the night talking with Lorath but he was much too afraid of the king’s wrath to enforce your new regimen, thus you had dismissed him. You were skilled enough to mix the ointment to ply to the king’s wound as well as your own, and as it stood, the healer’s skills had fallen short. Your arm was still bandaged to conceal the weeping burns and the pain remained severe.

Legolas had yet to emerge from his chamber, moping on his own after the tense interaction with his father. You sat that morning before his door and whispered to him through the engraved oak. You did not force your entry as you could hear the tears in his voice and would rather allow him his pride. He was still grieving his mother, as you all were, and his father’s conditions had erased all progress he had made since her disappearance.

 _How could Thranduil be so callous?_  He had not an ounce of compassion for even his own son. It was as if Ileen had been his conscience. He had been known as the ice prince before their marriage; so stern and unbending like his own father. In the early days of his marriage, your sister had written to you of his iciness but, with all her innate warmth, she had quickly melted his façade.

You had come to live with her in Mirkwood during her pregnancy. She was suffering greatly, the child constraining her to bedrest. Your mother had faced the same when she had carried you and the healer had been certain of her death. Ileen had persevered as always, and Legolas had been born healthy and cheerful. Even his father was heartened by his birth and had been near inseparable from the child in those early years. That relationship had quickly dissolved in Ileen’s absence.

Legolas was all that remained of your sister, he held the same light she had. Yet it saddened you to see how Thranduil was slowly extinguishing it in his darkness. You were desperate to hold onto it, to make certain that the young prince carried a part of his mother with him for the rest of his life. He shared her adventurous spirit and an optimism uncharacteristic of their race. You could not let him be dulled by elvish pessimism.

You left after convincing the prince to emerge for his breakfast and he hugged you tightly, holding onto to you longer than usual. “I’m happy you’re here, Auntie,” He sounded more a child than even, “Sometimes…you remind me of  _naneth_.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,  _nessa er_ ,” You ran your fingers through his thick hair, “I’m sorry I cannot join you for breakfast. I must make sure your father eats and I know I can trust you to take care of yourself. You’re such a strong boy.”

“You—” He pulled back, looking up at you concern, “Don’t let him hurt you again, Aunt Y/N.”

“I won’t,” You smiled down at him grimly, wishing he did not worry so much, “Besides, I’m not afraid to hurt him back.”

“Just be careful,” He squeezed your hand, “Please.”

“Don’t you worry for me, Legolas,” You gripped his hand in turn before releasing him, “Now run along and eat. I can hear your stomach growling.”

“Fine,” He dragged his feet as he made to pass you, “But…” He paused as you turned to watch him go, “Can we practice again? Just me and you?”

“Of course,  _nessa er_ ,” You waved him along, “But only if you eat first. Now go.”

He clapped his heels together eagerly as he turned back down the corridor before bursting into a childish run. It was the least you could do for him. Besides, there was a peace which lingered in the forest. A serenity which reminded you of Ileen and you were convinced it was her essence lingering in her absence. You hoped she was watching over Legolas because you were not quite certain you were doing so well enough.

You hurried back to your chamber, working your mortar and pestle to grind the herbs you had attained from the apothecary. Whatever Lorath had been using had not been stringent enough. You recalled an old mixture your mother had concocted and set to your work. A timely knock came at your door as you finished pouring it into a vial and you corked it securely. Another you tucked away on your desk for yourself and the first you hid in your pocket.

Alic stood before you with tray in hand, an insolent roll of his eyes greeting you. He was likely anxious of the king’s reaction to your restrictions, and you were too. “Don’t you fret,” You stepped into the corridor curtly, “I’ll deal with the king. I only need you to balance that tray,” You raised your bandaged arm, “As you can see, I am a but indisposed to that.”

“As you wish, my lady,” He muttered as you led him down the hallway.

“Oh, and one more thing, Alic,” You kept your voice stony, “I’ve always treated servants well, and I expect the same in return. I do not command deference, only respect. But if you should wish to continue thus, my attitude can change.”

“My apologies,” He stuttered, “I didn’t mean—”

“I understand the king has his own way of treating his staff,” You stopped before the royal chamber and twirled around to face the attendant, “But know, I do not share his sentiment and I intend to spare you his acrimony. You may leave as quickly as you’ve come.”

“Thank you, Lady Y/N,” Alic bowed his head.

“Trust me,” You knocked on the door out of courtesy, “I know his nature and I’m well enough to face it alone.”

Silence met your rapping and so you entered as forcefully as you had the day before. You ushered Alic in behind you with a flick of your fingers and he shakily set down his tray on the table beside the king’s bed. Thranduil did not open his eyes but audibly growled at your presence. The attendant bowed and skittered back through the door as you half expected the king to lob a dish back at him.

“You can pretend to slumber, your majesty,” You chided as you open the drapes with your uninjured arm, “But I’ll remain until you choose to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” He insisted, his eyes still closed.

“You will be eventually,” You lit the lanterns around the chamber, the space filling with tension, “And I can wait.”

“I am not a child,” He sneered as you neared his bed, pulling up a stool to sit, “I will not be coddled.”

“Trust me, Thranduil, I am much to annoyed with you to coddle you,” You poured a glass of citrus water from the ewer, “You at least must stay hydrated.”

“Mmm,” He opened his eyes and looked at the glass you set back on his nightside table, “Wine.”

“No,” You replied steadfastly, “You cannot continue to subside on not but alcohol. It thins your blood and impedes your recovery.”

“And when did you become a physician, Y/N,” He challenged tartly.

“I know well enough that it does you little good,” You took the glass up and held it out to him, “So does refusing the only help you’ll get.”

“Where’s Lorath?” He made no move to take the water.

“I dismissed him. He was lacking in his treatment of the royal body,” You did not lower your arm, “Now drink.”

Thranduil met your eyes with his icy silver gaze, his jaw stiffened, and you saw the flash of pain light from beneath his dressings. You pushed the goblet towards him once more, and finally he took it from you, staring at it with disgust. “You’re stubborn as a dwarf,” He reviled, “I can’t imagine how you share a drop of blood with… _her_.”

“And I don’t know how she could ever tolerate you,” You countered, and he slowly took a gulp of water, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing, “I should hope I shouldn’t have to spoon feed you.”

“I can feed myself,” He insisted. Riling him seemed the only way to get him to act, “ _Naneth_ ,” He spat backhandedly.

You chuckled at his insult and shifted on your stool. He set down the glass and tried to sit himself up against his backboard, grunting with excess. You stood and helped him as well as you could with one arm. To your surprise, he did not push you away, but he did snarl with shame. You retook your seat as he leaned against his pillows and slowly reached over to take up his fork, spearing a slice of potato pointedly.

After his first bite, he dropped the fork on the tray and shrugged. “I’m full.”

“You’re full of something,” You retorted and lifted his fork, holding it out to him, “Eat. Now. Or are you so intent on leaving your son an orphan?”

He tilted his head angrily as he looked to you, grabbing the fork so sharply that he nearly took your hand with it. He pointed it at you dangerously, “Do not speak of my son as if he is your own.”

“Hah, well you surely don’t,” You scowled, “As it stands, I’m the only one tending to the child.”

“You’ve never been able to mind your place,  _adaneth_ ,” He spat, “My son has his attendants, he has no need of you.”

“I am his aunt,” You withheld your anger as best you could, “I am the only family he has as his father languishes in self-pity.”

Thranduil opened his mouth as if to reply but seemed to think better of it. He speared another vegetable instead and popped it in his mouth, chewing on it as he avoided your gaze. He finished his meal as you waited in thick silence, making certain he ate every bite. You replenished his glass as he finished it and he made no protest to your courtesy.

You reached into your gown and drew forth the vial, revealing the cornflower blue tincture.

“What’s that?” He finally looked to you amidst his silent tantrum.

“For your burns,” You explained, “It should aid in regeneration and offer some relief.”

“And I should trust your expertise why?” He scoffed.

“Because it’s all you’ve got,” You sighed, “Are you so intent to push away all those who would help you.”

“Only you,” He grinned venomously.

“Good, I like a challenge,” You stood and uncorked the vial, “As I said, Lorath will no longer be tending your injuries. It seems he has little wisdom when it comes to tending burns. And as I share in your agony,” You nodded towards your arm, even more agitated since the king’s assault, “I think I should know what needs to be tended to.”

He eyed the ointment warily and then looked to you, visibly swallowing. You could see the conflict in his eyes between his loathing of you and his want of relief. You sat on the edge of his bed, preparing yourself to be pushed off but he made no move. “You truly think it would help?”

“I do,” You said evenly, “Now, shall we do this the hard way or the easy way?”

Thranduil rolled his eyes, lowering his gaze as he thought, slowly raising his hand to loosen the bandage around his head. His anger turned to shame as he unwrapped his burns, half his face sharing the same mottled complexion as your arm. You helped him free his arm from his robe and uncover the wounds along his shoulder and chest. You had gotten further than you expected.

He avoided your gaze as he exposed his wounds, trying to shield himself in the shadow of his canopy. It was a singular moment of vulnerability all too quickly dissolving into anger. “Just get it over with,” He commanded, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

You took a square of cloth and began to ply the mixture as gently as you could. He winced, flinched, and grunted a few times but said nothing. As you reached his face, he seemed to cower a moment but as you spread the cooling ointment across his burnt cheek, he leaned closer. He sighed as you finished, tossing the used cotton onto the tray with his empty plate.

“Did I hurt you at all?” You asked.

“Not as much as you could have,” He shrugged, and you took the roll of bandages from your pocket, “It feels…alright.”

“Good,” You nodded and began to rewrap his wounded, the process awkward as he raised his arm to aid you, “There,” You finished with his face and he leaned heavily against his pillows, “I hope that helps.”

You stood and gathered his used dressings and piled them on the tray, taking it up as you prepared to leave. He watched you as you did and seemed surprised at your departure. “Your majesty, I suggest you rest,” You neared the door, “I’ll have more water sent up, but I must be away. The prince is due for practice.”

With that, you bowed and opened the door while balancing the tray in your good arm. You pulled it shut behind you and set off down the chamber, trying to sort through your thoughts. You could not decide if you had made any progress with the king or if he had merely tolerated you in hope that you would leave quicker. Ileen was always better at these things, but you could be content that you had tried.


	4. Chapter 4

You had not meant to become the unofficial monarch of Mirkwood. As Thranduil continued to hide away in his chambers, your fastidious orders and restless efforts had caused many to turn to you for direction. Nobles stopped you in the corridors to ask you the king’s opinions and had even invited you to sit on council. You had politely declined, knowing the real ruler would not appreciate your initiative.

Besides you already had the prince and king to worry about. In hopes of establishing a routine for the listless Legolas, you had kept up daily shooting practice in the forest between your begrudging visits with his father. Thranduil remained as he had. He was slightly less combative, grumbling at your comments but he had yet to threaten you with another count of treason.

You had kept up with your treatments, studying medicinal texts at night as you refined your salve. You had also ordered the wine cellars to be held under lock and key and took at least two meals daily with the king a day. It was the only way you could monitor his diet and make sure of his recovery. The two of you had progressed from constant bickering to passive silence. 

If it was for the unrelenting pain, you would have forgotten about your own wounds. On occasion you did, your treatments not so habitual as Thranduil’s. You were barely sleeping for all your worries, visions of your departed sister filling your head as you struggled to doze. You hoped Ilene would be proud of you and your biggest fear was letting her down. She had left an entire kingdom behind; her son and husband were lost without her and the realm could easily follow.

The thought of Legolas saddened you. You could see in him the natural optimism of youth mixed wth the inherited cheerfulness of his mother. You feared it would slip away as his father’s darkness spread and tainted Mirkwood.

You sat and watched as he aimed another arrow at the tall oak tree, his mark as true as ever. Your arm was still bandaged and little better than it had been, thus you remained an avid observer. You smiled as the sun caught his profile and for an instant, highlighted his resemblance to Ilene.

“I daresay you’re a master with the bow,  _nessa er_ ,” You mused, “Perhaps, when my arm is better, we should change mediums. I am more inclined to a long sword and you’ll have to be adaptable. Battle is never predictable and so you must be prepared for anything.”

“I know…but mother, she never fought in a war, did she? She was skilled with her bow but I never heard of her fighting. I couldn’t even imagine it.”

“No, she was not one for conflict,” You agreed, “When we were girls, we trained together but she was more interested in riding. She was fortunate that she was a natural marksman. Like you.”

“Will I have to fight? Even if I don’t want to?” He set aside his quiver and sat beside you on the flat stone which served as your perch, “I don’t want to have to hurt people.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t always have a choice,” You ruffled his hair as he tried to keep your hand away and you chuckled, “But I promise, if that day should come, I will be right beside you. Even if I’m old as a tree. I promised your mother I’d watch over you and I’ve never broken my word before.”

* * *

The air seared at your flesh, your soiled bandages disposed upon the tabletop. You cringed as you examined your charred flesh, the muscles beneath red and inflamed. Your arm shook with pain as you looked it over and glanced back to the open book. The ointment you had been plying to both yourself and Thranduil helped dull your agony, but there had been little restoration in your boiled flesh.

You turned the page and sighed. When you had first returned to Mirkwood, Lorath had torturously removed the top layer of dead skin. The text before you suggested the process be repeated if there were no symptoms of healing. Thranduil might be saved the trouble as his flesh was starting to scab along the edges of his burns, though you wondered why your own recovery was being delayed.

You stood and gathered your tools. The borrowed medicine chest from the cellar, a basin of warm water, and a scrap of gauze. You laid out the square of fabric and the basin. You sat and opened the chest on the floor, retrieving a set of elongated tweezers. You dreaded the act, but it had to be done. You were desperate and honestly, a bit worried.

You took a worn wooden stick meant for gnawing on and set it between your teeth, steadying the tweezers as you hovered them above your shoulder. The mirror on the table served as your vantage for those parts you could not bend to see. A patch of blackened flesh, wrinkled and shriveling, caught your eye and you inhaled, biting down to mute the scream which rose as you pulled away the loose skin.

You dropped the revolting strip of flesh on the gauze and set to the next shedding bit. You grunted against the bit and stomped your foot as your arm reverberated in torment. You kicked the chest, stubbing your toe and added to your pain. As you paused, trying to regain your composure, your door burst open and you spit out the stick, cursing sharply at the intrusion.

“I—” You choked on your words as you lowered the tweezers, hand shaking, more concerned by your visitor than your lack of clothing. Your shift was poor attire for receiving a king. “What are you doing here? I’d say I’m glad to see you up and walking but I don’t suppose this is a social visit.”

“I’d say not,” Thranduil audibly gulped, his bandages hiding his expression though he seemed slightly embarrassed to have burst in on such a vulnerable scene. It was the first hint of remorse you had sensed from the king. “Every servant in this forsaken has refused me wine and I am told you to be the reason.”

“It’s not good for you or your recovery,” You shrugged and looked back to your arm, “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“I am the king, I do not excuse you,” He spat, “I need something. I’m in pain.”

“As. Am. I,” You panted as you removed another fleck of dead skin.

“What are you…doing?” The inflection of his voice was unexpected as he neared, “Are you truly as mad as you seem?”

You rolled your eyes and dropped the skin with the rest, placing the tweezers beside the gauze as you looked up at Thranduil. “Did you truly get out of your bed to nag me about a glass of wine? After so long refusing the company of your own son? Are you truly that desperate?”

“I…” His voice caught, and he looked around the chamber and back to you, “I’m sorry I’ve interrupted you.” He fidgeted as he began to back out of the room, an embarrassed tension rising around you.

“It’s fine,” You breathed exhaled, holding back your irritation, “Stay, if you like, and I’ll allow you a glass of wine. I need one myself if I’m honest.”

“You’ll allow me nothing, I am still king,” His obstinate arrogance returned as he stopped, his shoulders once more taking their regal bearing though he stood crooked on account of his bandaged shoulder.

“Do you want the wine or not?” You challenged, rising with a sneer.

He rolled his eyes as you turned away from him, looking among your scant shelf for the bottle of untouched red. You placed it on the table and found two snifters, uncorking and pouring the wine sloppily with your good arm. Thranduil sat in the other chair and took his glass from you impatiently. He swirled the dark nectar before swigging back half of it and you sat, staring at your own glass as your arm sang.

You closed your eyes as you tried to will away the pain, your arm trembling as it hung beside the chair. You sipped from your wine and opened your eyes, surprised to find Thranduil staring at your burns. He seemed as shocked by the sight as his son had.

“Let me get a robe,” You said, realizing it must have revolting, “I don’t much like looking at it myself.”

“No, no, I…” He paused and tossed back the rest of his wine, swilling it in his mouth as he set aside his glass, “I didn’t, uh…” You had never seen him so uneasy, “When I grabbed you, I hadn’t realized how bad it was. I didn’t know…” He pushed aside a strand of hair, his hand pausing along his bandages, “I am truly sorry.”

You weren’t sure how to receive his apology, the king never the same person one moment as the next. Perhaps the wine had softened him slightly or stirred his head. Ilene had lent him stability and without her, he had no bearing.

“And you’ve been tending to me all this time? And I’ve—” He caught himself, huffing and reached for the bottle. Out of instinct, you caught him with your wounded arm and cried out as you clung to him, “I said one glass.”

“By the gods, you are relentless,” He sneered, eyeing your arm before rescinding his reach empty-handed, “Nothing like… _her_.”

“You’re right, she didn’t know how to tell you no,” You shook your head, placing your wine aside, “But she’s gone and you’re still here. And you better accept that for the sake of your sanity and your son.”

“He has his handlers,” Thranduil said evasively.

“As much as I wish he was, he is not mine and he cannot be raised by attendants,” You asserted starkly, “You can drag yourself from the darkness for a glass of red but not for him? One day, he’s going to leave you and you’ll know how he feels now. Alone. Abandoned.”

Thranduil look away, the frown evident even through his dressings. He shook his head and huffed, standing with a grand sweep of resentment.

“My son is provided for. He is healthy and lives without worry,” He turned away as if to hide his distaste; though you couldn’t say if he was dissatisfied in you or himself, “He is a prince with all the luxury he could want for.”

“Except his father,” You said evenly, “He is mourning, just like you and me. But he is young and he cannot understand so well as us. He needs more than me. He needs you.”

“You’re not  _her_ , you’ll never be  _her,_ ” He rounded on you enraged, “You’ve no place left here without  _her_.”

“I’m not trying to be her, only trying to live without her,” You felt your eyes prickle, “Which is what you need to do. You still have your son and he is all that’s left of her. All the good that was in her is in him.”

“There is no good left in this world,” He grumbled, storming towards you as you stood defensively, ready to fend him off. He seized the bottle of wine, retreating before you could reach him, “This,” He held up the bottle, “Is what I need.”

Thranduil stomped to the door, swinging it open violently, turning back to you for only a moment, “She’s gone, and I should hope your departure is not far off.”

You stared stunned as the king left with a slam of the door. Your eyes filled with tears and you sniffed, your hands balled in fists despite the pain it sent up your burnt arm. The king was near mad, a pendulum swinging between tolerable and repugnant.  _Were his words a decree of exile or a mere tantrum fueled by wine and grief?_ Whatever it was, you could not leave Legolas alone in Mirkwood or what remained of Ilene would truly disappear forever.


	5. Chapter 5

You found Thranduil snoring the next morning, the empty wine bottle beside his bed and his covers pulled over his head. You swept into his room after your knocks went unanswered and pulled back the drapes to let the morning light stream in. A moan came from the bed as you neared and tore away his blankets, exposing him to the consequences of his bingeing.

“Time to rise and shine,” You sang, “I’ve got freshly squeezed orange juice and eggs and lots of veggies. After much excess, it is always wise to replenish one’s body.”

“Oh, don’t mention food at a time like this,” He rolled onto his back and groaned, gripping his stomach as his other hand went to his bandages, “Ow.”

“See what happens when you drink? You sleep on your  _burnt_ face,” You chided, “I’m certain you won’t do that again.”

“Please, leave me alone,” He pleaded as he tried to yank his covers away from you.

“Ah, look how nice you are when you want something from me,” You tossed his blankets over the foot of the bed, “Come on. Get up and eat! You’ve a long day ahead of you.”

“What do you mean?” He steadied himself as he sat up begrudgingly, “I’ve nothing planned.”

“It is time you return to your kingly duties. Past due, if I do say so myself,” You turned away from him as you orated brightly, “And seeing as you are exasperated with my own efforts to help during your disposal, you’ll have to start tending to your own troubles. Lord Kellan has requested an audience regarding some property in the north and the council is gathering in the afternoon.”

“Huh?” He sat dumbfounded on the edge of his bed, “I am in no condition to be doing all that.”

“If you can storm into my chambers so late, you can sit in a chair and listen to the nonsense of your nobles,” You tutted, “And you are healing well. I would surmise that the only damage left is that which is visible. I’ve been studying these last weeks and dragon fire often eats away flesh for good. It is disheartening I know but I’ve just begun another book on glamours and my own arm will need some cover if I am to carry on.”

“You can’t be serious? I am—”

“King? Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” You nudged him slightly, “So best start acting like it.”

“You’re petty, you know that,” He narrowed his eyes and huffed, swatting away your hand.

“Funny coming from you,” You smirked down at him dryly, “Now, get up. Whether or not you rise, Kellan will be here and I will not bar his entrance. Whether or not you are ready to receive him is entirely up to you.”

Thranduil gave an extended sigh and looked around his chamber, reluctantly standing as you stepped aside to give him space. You watched him smugly as he crossed to the table and sat heavily, nearly overturning his glass as he did. You took the chair across from him and smiled over at him, waiting for him to eat.

“Well, dig in,” He stared you down and made no move to eat, snarling as you gave him no reaction.

“What is wrong with you? Can’t you just let me be?”

“I could, but I suspect it wouldn’t go so well,” You said wryly, “And don’t you worry, I will so be away and you will deal with Kellan yourself. Your son and I have a lovely practice arranged and seeing as I’ve wasted so much of my time tending to you and your recovery, I’ll be seeing to mine this evening.”

“Is this all because of what I said last night? Are you so low—”

“Not so low as you, Thranduil, and I’ll not sit and be lectured,” Your fake cheerfulness sloughed away, a poisonous sneer curling your lips, “You cannot run away forever. From your kingdom, your people, your grief, or yourself. Yet, I apparently cannot help you in that and so you must learn it upon your own.” You leaned back in your chair and nodded to his plate, “Now eat. You’ll need the energy.”

* * *

You left Thranduil to sulk as he awaited the arrival of Lord Kellan. The king had grown reclusive since the battle and he needed to show that he was still the ruler. Perhaps it wasn’t the best decision for him to present himself with bandages concealing most of his visible flesh, but if he could storm the corridors of Mirkwood to seize a bottle of wine, then he could deal with his advisors.

 _If you pushed Thranduil too far, would he truly exile you?_  You had spent a night sleepless worrying over your heated exchange, but your anger had driven you to lash out. It could do more harm than good.

Legolas waited outside your chamber as he often did, his bow and quiver across his back. You shook your head at him as you approached, giving a chuckle to hide your rising anxiety. 

“Well,  _nessa er_ , I see you’re ready for practice but I’m afraid you won’t be needing those today,” You touched the tip of his bow, “I told you, you need to expand your expertise.”

You opened your door swiftly and retrieved the wooden swords leaned against the wall, holding them out to your nephew. Legolas took them with a frown and huffed. “Aunt Y/N…”

“We already know who’s the better archer and I am not one to sit and be made a fool of for so long,” You teased as you pulled shut your door.

“But your arm,” He frowned.

“I have two,” You grinned, forgetting your troubles for the boy’s precocious arguing, “And when I was younger than you, my master-at-arms had me parrying with one arm tied behind my back.” You nudged him into motion, guiding him down the corridor, “Besides, I don’t think my arm will fully heal, so I need to get used to it.”

“What?” He stopped short, his boots scuffing on the floor, “Why?”

“Dragon fire is poisoned fire, it rots the flesh as much as it burns,” You were trying not to scare the boy, but your words were frightening even to you, “The pain will relent to tolerable but it will never be as it was. But we must move on. That is life, Legolas. We hurt and we mourn, but we cannot stop living for it.”

“What about my father? Will he ever be better?”

“Your father has healed far more than I have, but he will bear scares for the rest of his days,” You set your hand on Legolas’ shoulder and continued down the hallway, “But I can help him disguise them. All he needs to do is accept my help.”

“But he’s a jackass,” Legolas interjected, biting his tongue as he realized his slip, “Sorry, Aunt Y/N.”

“Well, as much as I disagree with your language, I can’t deny your sentiment,” You replied slyly as you pushed through the front doors into the sunlight, “But, please,  _nessa er_ , do not say such things to your father. He is difficult enough as it is.”

He nodded, a thoughtful silence rising between you as you strolled towards the forest. “I saw him last night…in the corridor. He looked angry and he had a bottle of wine.”

“You did?” You looked at the boy, his face ashen, “You didn’t say anything to him, did you?”

“No…I don’t like it when he drinks,” He kicked a stone as his jaw tensed, his voice strained with the threat of tears, “And he doesn’t like me much.”

“Oh,” You slid to a halt, catching the boy by his cloak, “Look at me, Legolas,” You forced him to turn to you and knelt to look him in the eye, “Your father is a right horse’s ass but he loves you. I know it’s hard to see through all his shit but he does…Pardon my language,” You touched his cheek softly as his eyes rounded, glimmering with tears, “He’s just too damn stubborn and sad to realize how much of a jerk he’s being.”

You pulled Legolas into a one-armed hug, the swords crushed awkwardly between you, “I only wish your mother was here to talk some sense into him.”

“Me, too,” He sniffled into your shoulder, “But she’s gone…” Slowly he pulled away, wiping his damp cheeks with his cuff as he bobbled the swords in one arm, “But you’re here and maybe you should  _knock_  some sense into him.”

“Oh, _nessa er,_ ” You shook your head at him, “Trust me, I should…” You looked around the grassy knoll, the tree line not far ahead, “Come on. Let’s not waste such a beautiful day fretting over your father,” You stood and dusted your knees off, “Besides, I need the practice if I’m going to smack him back in his right mind.”

“Ha,” Legolas’ laughter reassured you as you continued down your path, hoping the sparring would help you forget about his father.

* * *

Finding your balance had been difficult at first. Minding your wounded arm and trying to jostle it too much had been nearly a greater challenge than Legolas himself. The boy was quick and strong, but he was still clumsy with a sword. He need finesse and despite your impairment, you ran him ragged.

He tossed aside his sword as he panted, sitting on the large flat stone at the edge of the clearing. You leaned your own weapon beside him and took the water skin from atop your cloak disposed of in the dirt. You held it out to him to take a drink before doing so yourself, looking up to the dimming sky. You had lost track of time and wiled away most of the afternoon.

“You’re definitely your mother’s son but it won’t be long before you wield a sword as well as any elf,” You grinned down at him; he looked like Ilene with the shade of the leaves softening his face, “And she’d be as proud of you as I am.”

“For what?” Legolas scoffed as you leaned against a tree.

“For being you! You’re so talented and so smart,” You preened, “You’re the greatest nephew an elf could ask for. If I had a son, I would hope he’d be just like you.”

“Thank you, Aunt Y/N,” Legolas wrung his hands as he blushed, “I’m…happy you’re here, now that naneth isn’t.”

“Me, too,  _nessa er_ ,” You crossed to him and brushed back his long blond hair, “I know I’ll never be so nice as her, but I’m trying.”

“You won’t,” A dark voice growled as a figure emerged from the trees, “And he’ll never be  _your_  son.” Thranduil glared at you, his bandages creasing as he did. He neared you, his hand settling on Legolas shoulder as he loomed over you. “He’s my son and you’re not  _her._ ”

“Father,” Legolas began to protest but received a sharp look from Thranduil.

“What are you doing here?” You sneered.

“I was looking for  _my_  son,” He raised a thick brow, “And once again I find you poisoning him against me.”

“I have done no such thing,” You tried to cross your arms but rescinded them in pain, “Have I not begged you to see him?”

“You and your meddling, trying to paint yourself a saint. I know what you’re doing, Y/N. Trying to villainize me with my own people and my own son,” His voice was pure venom, “Your sly, I admit, but not that subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” You reeled as if you had been slapped, “I’ve not done anything ill towards you. I’ve seen to it myself that you make a full recovery, that you eat, that you have all you need—”

“You have striven to make me your inferior,” He shook his head with a putrid smirk, “But I see right through you. I always wondered how you were ever related to  _her—_ ”

“Stop!” Legolas stood, shoving his father away before he could step closer, “Don’t you talk to her like that! She’s the only one who’s been here for me since naneth died and where have you been? Where have you been?” Legolas was yelling and beating his fists against his father’s torso, “You’ve been hiding in your chamber drinking wine and I’ve been all alone!” He sobbed deeply, “She’s dead and you might as well be too!”

Legolas turned away and raced towards the trees, disappearing before you could react. Thranduil stood bewildered as he watched his son flee and you hesitated only a moment before making to run after him. “Don’t,” Thranduil caught your wounded arm causing you to cry out as he turned back to face him.  He released you swiftly, a tint of remorse in his pale eyes, “You’ve done enough.”

The king swept back his hair and brushed past you, falling into his stride as he followed his son’s path into the brush. You turned and watched him go, the clearing growing darker as the sun receded. You prayed the boy did not stray too far, but more so, that his father was not so cruel to him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It took you a moment to regain your composure. After Thranduil’s silver hair disappeared into the trees and his footsteps faded, your mind returned to sanity. You exhaled and steadied the trembling in your fingers, uncertain if it was shock or anger.  _How could the king be upset that you would assume the responsibilities he had grown negligent of?_

 _How self-righteous it was of him to make you the villain._ Legolas could not be abandoned for the tragedy of his mother. It riled you to think of the king’s egoistic grief.  _Had you not been intransigent in your tending to his very wounds, resolute in your upkeep of his forgotten kingdom?_ You had done all you could to keep the world from crumbling around him and yet he acted as if you had rained destruction upon him.

As you made for the trees, Thranduil reappeared, his eyes frantic and steps determined.

“Where’s Legolas?” You asked, peeking behind him.

“I can’t find his trail,” He snarled, “I’m going back to the palace to rally a search party.”

“Can’t even be bothered to look for you own son,” You sneered, “How am I not surprised?”

“Is it not better to have as many scouring the forest as possible?” He challenged, nearing you dangerously, “I’m more concerned with the boy being out here all night on his own. It is much too perilous.”

“Well, at least you care, as little as that is,” You shouldered past him and he whipped around, his fingers brushing your wrist as he tried to latch onto your wrist.

“I’ll find him,” You said without turning back, evading his reach, “You send your search party, but I’ll get to him first.”

With that you stepped into the brush, leaving the king behind you. You did not listen for his departure as you quickly roved deeper into the forest. Thranduil was right that you would have to hurry in your pursuit of the prince. The longer he was left to his own path in the immense wood, the more exhausting your search would be.

It took an hour to catch a sense of Legolas and you easily followed his trail once you found it. You came upon a thorny thicket just below a crowd of looming willow trees. You walked noiselessly around the darkened grove, looking up as the leaves rustled around you. The prince’s silver hair was visible amid the motley of green and he met your eyes guiltily.

“You get down here,” It was a command but not harsh, “Now.”

“I don’t want to go back, Aunt Y/N,” He called down, “I can’t.”

“Really? You’re going to leave me all alone,” You asked, “I can’t handle your father all by myself. And I’m hurt! What about my arm?”

“Oh, don’t play that game,” He groaned but you could see the flash of remorse in his face, “Don’t make me, please. I can’t stand him! He doesn’t even act like he’s my father.”

“He doesn’t act like a king either, but he still wears the crown,” You countered dryly, “Please,  _nessa er,_  come down for me.” You sighed as he looked away, “You can’t leave me.”

The wind ruffled the leaves and Legolas covered his face with his hands. His shoulders dropped as he revealed his frown and shook his head. “Fine, I’ll come back. But not for him.”

“Very well,” You relented as you watched him reluctantly shimmy down the tree, “Besides, what would your naneth have said of you running away? Did she not teach you to be strong?”

He stared at you a long moment and a smile flickered at the corner of his lips. “She did,” He puffed his chest out, “She’d want me to be brave.”

“You are brave,” You held out your hand to him, “She’d be amazed. But now, you have to help me be brave, Legolas.” Slowly he took your hand, “Because I’d be far too afraid to return alone.”

* * *

By the time you reached the palace, the moon had replaced the sun, but few stars had appeared in the dimmingsky. You braced yourself as you walked up the steps, greeting the guards with a somber nod as you sensed Legolas tense up beside you. As you dragged your feet through the corridors, the prince’s yawn echoed along the ceiling and your own threatened to rise in your throat.

“I’ll have some dinner sent up, but you need to rest right after. It’s been a long day,” You advised the prince as you came upon his chamber door, two guards stood in wait. Foreboding rose in your chest and you squeezed Legolas’ hand.

“Aunt, what’s going on?” You tried not too look as worried as you felt.

“It’s fine,” You assured him thinly, “They’re just making sure your safe.” He set your hand on his shoulder and bent to kiss the crown of his head, “Good night, my prince. Don’t fall asleep before your dinner arrives.”

“Good night,” He mimicked but you could tell he was as anxious as you were.

You nudged Legolas forward as one of the guards opened his door for him, closing it swiftly behind him as the pair turned to you. You crossed your arms, ignoring the torrent of pain it sent through you. “What is the meaning of this? Is this how you greet a lost child? A prince nonetheless.”

“We are here for the prince’s safety,” The left guard explained.

“He is returned, he does not need you to keep watch of him,” You rolled your eyes and grimaced.

“Our orders are not to keep him in, but to keep you out,” The other returned and they crossed their spears in front of the door, “The king has decreed that you no longer be admitted in the prince’s presence.”

“Pardon me,” You nearly recoiled in dismay, “You would keep the prince cloistered? The king does not bother to visit his own son and now he orders that none should.”

“The prince may see his tutors and attendants,” The left guard recited in a dull tone, “We follow the king’s orders, not yours.”

“Ah! That damned—You make sure the prince is fed,” You pointed your finger between them, “That is the least you can do even if you will not let me see him.”

“The prince well be well-tended to,” The left guard replied and looked away dismissively, “The king commanded as much.”

With a huff, you spun on your heel and marched away from the prince’s chamber. You were tempted to storm all the way to Thranduil’s room and lambaste him but you were much too tired and he was likely intoxicated. You would have to deal with him the morning but the night would be as restless as any. Your fatigue would not be enough to mute your wrath.

You pushed into your chambers, keeping your wounded arm at your side as it radiated with pain. You had been far too careless in your anger. You came to a sudden halt in the already lit chamber, an unwelcome figure sitting in wait for you. Thranduil was in a chair, his lithe legs crossed and a simpering sneer on his face.

“What are you doing here?” You withheld your desire to smack him.

“As I recall, it is quite the privilege to have a private visit with the king,” He said coyly as he examined his slender fingers.

“Go! Now!” You kept your distance, uncertain if you could keep rein of your emotions, “I don’t want to speak to you, let alone see you.”

“I gather you found  _my_ son,” He smirked and your hand balled into fist instinctively.

“I did,  _I_ found  _your_ son!” You were almost yelling, “And you would keep me from him? How dare you!”

“I do dare, because  _I_ am the king,” He stood, his movement serpentine, “And I think it best you remember that.”

“You’re despicable, you know that?” You could not restrain yourself further, “You have languished in your bed drinking wine for months and you accuse me of what? Picking up after you? You punish me for doing what you were to selfish to do yourself?” You neared him as your voice grew to a roar, “You left your kingdom, your people, and worst of all, your son! How low of you to push your guilt on my shoulders.”

You felt tears brimming and willed them not to fall. “I saw to your recovery myself and why do you think I subjected myself to your vile vanity? For the kingdom and for the prince. Not you. If you could simply fathom that not everything is about you, perhaps you’d have an ounce of wit in your head!”

You jabbed him in the chest and he caught your hand, holding you in place as he stared you down. His rage apparent even through his thick bandages. “ _She_ was queen, not you.  _She_ was my wife and I have been mourning her.”

“Ileen was my sister!” You shoved him away, but he kept his grip, “I knew her my entire life. We were best friends. We were blood and you would dare to tell me I’ve not the right to my own grief! You are so blinded in your self-worship, you would lecture me on grief?”

“This isn’t about you or me,” You continued as he made no answer, “This is about Legolas. He needs you. He needs his father because she’s not coming back! She’s gone and we all just have to keep living.”

Thranduil’s face fell as he released you suddenly as if you had slapped him. You would have but your own anger had faded to gloom. You shuddered and stepped back, watching the king as he struggled with his own emotion. He opened his mouth for a moment but silenced himself with a hand over his lips, lowering his eyes as he turned away.

The king slowly made his way towards the door, resting his hand on the knob and he looked over his shoulder, “I’m sorry,” He rasped before tearing open the door, “I’m so sorry.” He left you in the thick silence, the candles flickering as if they would die. You stared at the door as you tried to discern what had just occurred.

_Had you finally gotten it through his thick head at last or was he merely retreating in defense?_


	7. Chapter 7

Ileen stood before you but she was not as you had known her. Her crystalline eyes were dulled and her peachy skin sallow. She did not draw or release breath and yet she watched you. Her eyes bore into you as you looked back; frozen and frightened. You had longed to see her again but not like this.

“Ileen,” You whispered but her name was suffocated by the impenetrable silence.

Her face creased and she opened her mouth as if to answer, her tongue blackened and cracked. She moved her parched lips but you could not hear her words. An icy film began to spread from her cavernous mouth, sealing her lips as it seeped across her necrotic skin until she was encapsulated in a cocoon of cloudy glass.

Her eyes glowed from within her mortal prison and widened with panic. She tried to breath but no air came to her. She tried to scream and her skin shriveled and fractured as the cocoon began to shake with her struggles. You reached out to touch her with your blackened hand, but as your fingertips brushed the frigid surface, a surge resounded through you and you were jolted awake.

You sat up in the dim light of dawn, panting and trembling as your dream disintegrated to lingering dread. You had seen your sister’s face before waiting for you in the void beneath your eyelids, but never so clearly. Or hauntingly.

Gulping back the last of your despair, you forced your legs over the edge of your bed. It all came back to you. That life beyond the dark. The night before and your confounding confrontation with the king. You recalled how you were forbidden the presence of your own nephew and your gloom burned to fury.

If you could not see to Legolas’ well-being, Ileen would have lived and died for not. But with a father who could not even care for himself, the elfling would be lost. You could see his future, a single moment of clairvoyance. Alone, wandering, searching for the belonging he would never find. The light which Ileen had left behind would be extinguished and this world would plunge further into darkness.

You stood shakily, your legs weak and sluggish. You sighed as you lit a lantern, the orange ring adding to the morning glow streaming through the glass. You reached into the chest which sat as it often did atop the table, still open from your late night treatment. The ointment had begun to sooth and even heal. Removing the dead skin had proven prudent thought the flesh would never look as it once did.

You carefully plied the tincture to your flesh though your mind was elsewhere. The ritual had become so inherent you were soon sitting upon the chair wiping your fingers with a cloth and staring listlessly at the luminous window panes. A moment for the salve to absorb, a moment for your thoughts to settle. A moment to prepare yourself for the next battle.

With your unaffected arm, you dressed reluctantly. You brushed your hair and tied it behind your head, looking to your reflection for strength. You stiffened your lip, set your eyes, and righted your posture. You would have to be unbending as Ileen had been. You pulled on your boots and blew out the lamp, opening the door to the day ahead.

* * *

You marched down the airy halls of the palace, pausing briefly before the guards at the prince’s door. That was a fight for another time. The kingdom needed guidance and it seemed it would receive less than from its very own monarch. To repair the family, you would first need rebuild the realm.

At Thranduil’s chamber door, Alic stood as if awaiting you. You narrowed your eyes and stepped up before him with a sigh. “Is he within?”

“He is,” He answered staunchly, his duty overpowering his doubt, “And he has requested you not be admitted.”

“Of course,” You shook your head, twiddling your charred fingers beneath your sleeve, “I’ve little want to see him as it is. Has he eaten?”

The attendant looked away guiltily, his eyes catching movement further down the corridor. A servant approached with a bottle of Rivendell wine, a hesitant bow as the neared the king’s door. You nodded indifferently as Alic let the elf enter before turning his attention back to you.

“So I presume he will do as he has done. Hide and drink,” You resisted the urge to force your way in. Thranduil would have to see to himself, you were done. There was only one who needed your worry and that was the prince. “I suppose he has no intention to attend council, either?”

“It would seem not,” Alic almost sounded embarrassed for his master, “Though, he has not said much of his intentions. Little at all.”

“Very well,” You bowed your head in dismissal, turning back the way you came.

The council chambers were open, the nobles waiting in a hushed chatter. You entered swiftly, pretending that the kingdom had returned to its former order. There would be no gain in allowing the realm to descend alongside the king. If he would not lift it, it would need to do so itself.

“Lords and Ladies,” You greeted the table as it slowly quieted, confusion mounting as you stopped at the head of the table, “Our king has opted for another day of self-pity and irresponsibility,” The words left the table stunned as they wondered at your contempt, “Thus it is, as the process of governing and procedure would decree in light of an errant monarch, that the council would assume those duties left untended by said ruler.”

The nobles looked to each other in concern, fearful of the consequence of a seemingly treasonous motion. “It has been several months since our queen was lost and it would appear that her king has joined her at heart. By the word of law, as I’ve found signed into writ by a former king of Mirkwood, in protection and insurance that this land live on, it is the responsibility of the council to take up the duties of the monarch. To protect the people and the kingdom, else we should remain idle until there is nothing left.”

Whispers passed back and forth as you looked up and down the table, wondering to yourself the same as your audience:  _Were you overstepping yourself?_ Even if you had the legal precedent on your side, it felt rather traitorous.

“Trade must be restored as it was. Too long we’ve let our riches fall while we wait for our king to recover. The people must have industry returned to them and our kingdom must rediscover its purpose. We must tend to the sickly overgrowth forming in our forest and we must return the light after this time of darkness. And we would do so not against our liege, but for him.

“If we can enliven that which has deteriorated, we may just reawaken our king. We do not take from him his power, but wield it in his stead so that he not lose all that he has. So that  _we_  do not lose our livelihoods and ourselves. We build the realm so that we may hand over to our king, when he returns to guide us, a prosperous people and healthy land. All those in favour?”

You waited with bated breath as the table murmured. Looks were exchanged and all fell silent as you drew the attention of the nobles. Slowly, Lord Kellan raised his hand with a soft ‘aye’ and the rest let out their mutual breath. He was followed by Lady Gwinna and Lord Dyrwin. The levee broke and the table cheered in agreement, every hand in the air as you sighed with relief.

Perhaps, it would be enough to propel Thranduil to action. If not, it would at least restore Mirkwood.

* * *

As you neared Legolas’ door, the pair of guards fidgeted in their armor and you fumbled with the scroll in your hand. The stamp of the council marked its authority; not the deposition of a king, but merely an act in his place. You looked from one guard to the other and smiled.

“I am here to visit the prince,” You stated, “We’re due for our daily practice.”

“The king’s orders stand, my lady,” The left guard returned without looking at you.

“The king’s orders have been replaced,” You unrolled the parchment, displaying the council’s seal, “While he is so indisposed, the council will reign. And to disobey council decree is an offense which can have one dismissed or worse, jailed.”

The right guard looked anxiously to his partner who leaned forward to read the signatures of the nobles. The two exchanged a glance and slackened the grip on their spears. “If that is legitimate, we cannot oppose you,” The left seemed almost relieved, “Can’t say I disagree either. King’s not doing much of anything these days.”

“Aye,” The right agreed, “First orders we get from him in weeks and it’s to babysit.”

“Be that as it may,” You were relieved it hadn’t come to a fight, “It would be in your interest not to repeat your thoughts to any other. The king is still our ruler in name, it is treason to speak against his crown.”

“Certainly,” The left guard cleared his throat as he waved his companion to his side, “We didn’t mean anything against the king.”

“I know, but it is still wise to hold one’s tongue,” You bowed your head and the pair turned away, jostling each other as they retreated down the corridor. It was your first act but not a small one.

“Nessa er,” You called as you rapped your knuckles on the door, “Are you ready?”

Silence met your question but the handle soon clicked and Legolas poked his face out between the door and its frame. His frown brightened to a smile as he looked back at you and he let the door fall open. “Aunt!”

“Legolas,” You grinned at him as you bent to meet his eyeline, “We’re running late today, so you best be quick.”

“But how?” He looked around for the guards in confusion, “I thought my father said–”

“Your father is still…as he was. We must let him recover in his own time,” You did not want him to think ill of the only parent remaining to him, “I fear I tried to hurry him. Though, it does not excuse his cruelty to you.”

“Or you,” Legolas’ jaw went rigid with anger, “Why must he hate us so?”

“He doesn’t hate you, nessa er, he is merely lost,” You touched a strand of the prince’s hair, “He will find himself in time but we cannot let go of him. He is still your father and he will never stop loving you, alright? And neither will I..”

“I know,” His irritation faded, “But what about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You never said he didn’t hate you,” He pondered.

“Well, that’s yet to be determined,” You stood straightened and shrugged, “Now go get your cloak so we can be on our way.”

* * *

The king’s solar had sat long in disuse but it would have to do. You had heard nothing of Thranduil and were relieved to have slept after a late night of practice with your nephew. The morning came brighter than the last but you awaited the storm. You could not go on long before the king was riled.

You pulled back the curtains, one at a time as you kept your burned arm at your side. You opened the windows to let out the dust you feathered away from the desk and other furniture. The song of birds and scent of grass streamed in and a knock came at the door. Lord Kellan entered with a small stack of parchment, his demeanour less aimless than in the last months.

“My lady,” He set the paper down before you as you sat in the straight-backed chair, “I must say, it was wise of you to present this motion and none would be better to lead us in our endeavour.”

“I would not presume to be the head of the council,” You waved away his praise, “I would only hope that we can work together towards a single end. I must remind you this is not a mutiny.”

“I never meant anything of the like,” He sat across from you as he began to shift through the paper, “I was only impressed by your ingenuity. I would never the gall to present the writ though I knew it existed. Our king, well, he is temperamental. Even before all this, I would not have dared oppose him thus.”

“Once again, Lord Kellan, I do not oppose him,” You sighed and brushed back a loose hair.  _What had you gotten yourself into?_  “Now, let us begin. We’ve much to do. If you would…”

Kellan held up his first parchment, “This is our former contract with Rivendell. It has lapsed since the loss of Queen Ileen and, because we’ve not had the king’s jurisdiction to renegotiate or even extend the agreement, we must do so now. This is not ideal for Mirkwood however, as we let the contract expire, thus we hold the lower ground.”

“There’s no reason Rivendell wouldn’t renew the same terms,” You scratched your head as you leaned over the desk, taking the paper from him, “Why don’t you walk me through it and we can decide if we can keep something in our back pocket just in case?”

You tried to focus on the words as Kellan began to espouse his wisdom on the matter, though he helped little. He seemed more concerned with his own display of superiority than your understanding. You let his voice keep the rhythm of your reading, resigned to untangle the riddle of legislation yourself. As it was, your mind was still torn between your new duties and looming repercussions.

Perhaps you had asked for more than you could handle.


	8. Chapter 8

Nine days had passed without difficulty. Most of your days and nights had been spent in the king’s solar, mulling over legislation and royal duties left unsettled. Even as you laid in bed, you found little rest. You were kept awake by the stresses awaiting you and the visions of Ileen which awaited you in your dreams. Your only respite was the few hours you spent sparring with Legolas in the forest.

And your arm. You had gone to Lorath to examine your burns as they still caused you much pain. The flesh looked as recovered as it would be and yet the pain lingered. It was not oppressive but it was ever present with each bend of your elbow or twitch of your fingers. The healer confirmed your diagnosis, informing you that dragon burns would never fully ameliorate. The burns would continue to bite though the risk of infection as passed.

Your pocked hand rested atop an unrolled parchment, the contrast between the smooth paper and your flesh startling. You sighed as you made yourself focus on the letters, trying to unfold the elaborate language used by politicians. It frustrated you how the royal council could be just as evasive as their king.

As if he could have heard your mental slight, Thranduil whisked violently through the solar door, nearly taking it off its hinges. You looked up at him in surprise but did not allow him the pleasure of your chagrin. You set aside the parchment you had been studying and leaned on the arm of the chair, waiting for his outburst to begin.

“You! Usurper!” He pointed at your sharply, “You dare to undermine me?! Turn my own advisors against their king? You have commited treason most foul and you will be punished for it!” He was at the other side of the desk, leaning over it so that his face, even beneath his bandages, had darkened, his silver eyes turning to slate, “Traitor!”

“Are you done?” You asked blithely.

“What?” He pulled back as if you had struck him.

“Are you done with your tantrum because I’ve a lot of  _your_  work to do,” You stated, reaching for the paper you had just set aside. He reached across the desk to snatch it before you could grasp it.

“My work,” He repeated, “You’ve said it yourself. You sit and assume _my_ throne. Are you so brazen? You’re royal relation will not keep you from justice.”

“I’ve not usurped your throne,” You stood calmly, “I’ve merely taken up the work you’ve set aside in your self-pity. Work which needs to be done otherwise you’d not have a throne to sit upon.”

“Hmm, so you would liken your treason to a favour?” He scoffed, “You are sly.” He rounded the desk, bearing down on you as if to strike. You kept yourself steady, meeting his glare with your own.

“Take it as you will. But if you’re up and ready to resume your crown, the work is there,” You waved to the top of the desk, much of the marble surface covered with parchment, “I’ll happily step aside.”

Thranduil’s bandages crinkled as he frowned, his eyes flicking from you to the desk. His growled and crossed his arms. You realized he had not even dressed. He wore a dressing robe still and his chest was visible beneath its low collar, the belt tied loosely at his waist. So angry must he have been when he learned of the council’s orders that he had stormed directly to you.

“It took you near a whole fortnight to realize it,” You shook your head as you tried to step past him but he blocked you in, angling himself in front of you, “Does that not even trouble you?”

“ _You_ trouble me,” He countered, “Getting yourself involved in matters you’ve no business in.”

“Up until this moment, you had even less to do with such matters,” You retorted, “Now let me go.”

“Go where?” He did not budge, “To act as my own son’s mother? To play pretend?”

“I am not the one who has been playing pretend,” Your voice was getting louder despite yourself, “You, hiding away with your wine, foregoing your duties, turning your back on those who depend on you. Your son, your people, your kingdom. And you blame me for that as if I did nothing but watch.”

“I didn’t know you had it in you,” He grumbled venomously, “Your…sister, she’d never have. She wasn’t like you. How is it you two could share even an ounce of blood?”

“I am not my sister, I know it well,” You were riled, ready to attack,  “I never longed to be nor claimed to be.” You inhaled deeply, trying to quell your anger but it flowed from you like a river, “You! You! How dare you accuse me of ever conspiring against her memory!  I have only done what needs to be done, as she did. More than you’ve done.”

Thranduil stared back silently, his anger and shock apparent even though you could see little but his eyes and lips.

“Now move or I shall move you myself,” You poked his arm harshly and he caught your hand. He caught your eyes with his and searched them for some sliver of hesitation.

“I am a king, you do not touch me.”

“You are a child,” You ripped your arm from his grip and brushed past him brusquely, scrapping your thigh against his desk, “And I’ve enough of picking up after you.” You marched to the door, turning back as you reached for the door, “You’ve made your bed. Now lay in it.”

With that, you slammed the door behind you with a tremulous clatter. You weren’t even sure it had truly closed but you tramped away without regard. Never had you been so angry in your life, nor had you ever felt so rotten.

* * *

Thranduil stood beside his desk as the door slammed behind him. He looked at the parchment scattered across the marble and sighed deeply. For a moment he felt guilty, staring down at all the work Y/N had been doing. The work he had left for her.

 _Nonsense!_ He was the king and he was in mourning. He turn and lowered himself into the chair, sitting back as he stretched his legs below the desk. His anger was draining from him and he was suddenly very tired. He leaned his forehead against his elbow and closed his eyes. He felt the bandages which masked his burns and ran his finger nails along their edges.

He leaned back slowly and untucked the end of the gauze, unraveling it an inch at a time until he could feel the air against his face. He dropped the length of bandage atop the pile of parchment and brushed his fingers over the scarred side of his face. It was healed now, mostly, but he could not accept that this was truly his face.  _How could a king lead when he was so vile?_

He pushed himself to his feet with the arms of the chair, approaching the mirror against the far wall. Its frame was of curved gold, forged by the dwarves of Erebor for his father. Reluctantly he looked at his reflection, half his face was as it had been but the other was so distorted he could barely stomach it. 

 _It was only vanity,_ he told himself,  _he was still alive._

The king tore the mirror from its hook and tossed it into the corner, kicking over a stool that was in his way. His thoughts returned to Y/N and the way she had looked at him. She had been so angry and so disgusted with him. He felt near the same.

She had recalled once more how she had tended to him, how she had done her best to aid in his recovery but what good had it done? He was still scarred. He would never truly be as he was. All she had done was useless. And she had tried to undermine him with his very own council! He should be the one so angry with her.

 _Yet what reason had she to do anything for him?_  He remembered those dark days when she would apply her salve to his wounds and watch him eat, even when he did not feel hungry. But she had taken his wine and his only comfort. He could not let her keep from him the only joy he had found since he had lost his wife.

Oh, but he  _had_  missed her visits. In his own deluded way, he had found his days much emptier without her ordering him around and forcing open his windows. Then he had heard of her deception and he could no longer remain in the shadows. He had shown her his might and she had backed down…

Y/N’s eyes flashed in his mind once more and he gripped his head trying to shake the vision away. Those eyes which were so unlike her own sister’s; dark and fiery not rich like sapphires. _Oh, but the woman did plague him much more than his beloved._  She haunted him by her very presence, insisting that he must live as if he had not lost everything.

Thranduil leaned against his desk, a pit forming in his stomach through his rush of self-righteous victory.  _Gods, why could he not rid himself of the feeling that he had done something wrong?_

* * *

Legolas had waited a whole hour. Even since she had started working with the council, Y/N had never been late but today it seemed she was not coming. The prince stared at the wooden swords his aunt had left with him the day prior and stood, clasping the green buckle of his cape and squaring his shoulders. He would just have to find her this time.

He scooped up the sword, holding them awkwardly in his childish hands as he opened the door clumsily. He tried not to drag their tips along the floor as he walked the corridors. He came to the first corner and paused, looking down one and then the other. He wasn’t quite sure if he should search for her in her solar or her chamber.

He was answered by a muffled crash, distracted by the sudden clatter. He slowly made his way down the next hallways, pausing before the door of Y/N’s chamber. He listened and heard heavy breathing from within and his aunt’s voice as she grumbled unintelligibly.

Legolas reached out and pressed down on the door latch, relieved that it was not locked. He pushed it open cautiously, keeping the wooden swords pressed against him with his other arm. His aunt was crumpled on the floor, a pile of broken glass beside her with dark red liquid oozing around it. Upon the table was an overturned bottle of wine though there was nothing left in it to spill.

The prince dropped the swords unceremoniously as he tried to step forward. Y/N sniffed as he kicked the wooden blades aside and closed the door swiftly behind him. He crossed to his aunt and knelt beside her as she sat up, wiping away the tears from her face. Her breath was laced with wine as his father’s often was and she wobbled as she held herself up with one arm.

“Legolas,” She hiccuped and sniffed again, “You should not be here.”

“Why are you crying?” He asked as he touched her shoulder.

“I’m not,” She lied, her face still splotchy from her tears, “I’m fine.”

“I get sad too,” He said as he pushed back her hair from her face. His mother would do that when he would cry, “I miss her, too.”

“I know,” She took his hands gently in her own and lowered them as she straightened up, “I just…I promised your mother I’d take care of you if anything ever happened to her. And your father, too, but…” She gulped as she released him and stood shakily. She steadied herself with the chair as she sat in it heavily, “I can’t. I’m not like her.” She looked up at him with widened eyes, “I’m so sorry,  _nessa er_ , I should not talk to you of this.”

“But it’s like you said to me,” Legolas neared her, avoiding the mess of glass and wine on the floor, “Naneth would be proud of you, too. You take care of me just fine and as for father, well, he can’t even care for himself.”

She stared at him and more tears rose in her eyes, leaking out as she tried to wipe them away with her sleeves, “You’re a good prince and a better nephew,  _nessa er_ ,” She said, “I’m sorry I’ve spoiled the day. I’m sorry we cannot practice.”

“Don’t be sorry,” He wrapped his arms around her suddenly, her stiff shoulders softening against him as he held her, “You should only be happy.”

Legolas took comfort in his aunt’s embrace even as she began to sob into his shoulder. He had never seen her cry before but it was his turn to be strong for her. He was the Prince of Mirkwood after all; it was his duty to lead when the king would not.


	9. Chapter 9

The morning rained down on you like a storm. The excess of the previous evening rang in your ears and barreled across your skull like a stone. You gripped your temples, opening your eyelids to the dim sunlight peeking in through your window. You had never been one for drinking so much and even in your inebriation, you had known it would be a mistake.

You lowered your hands, exhaling heavily as your head reverberated. You closed your eyes with a groan, visions of your drunken dream rising before you. Ileen had been there again, but her words had been muffled and yourself too far to reach her. You could never escape it, the sight of her waiting for you in the ether. Calling to you helplessly.

Ileen’s golden curls were replaced with Legolas’ silken blond tresses. The memory of the boy, the only piece of his mother left, roused you from your drowsiness. You sat up too quickly and struggled to keep yourself upright as your head swum. You clung to the bedpost as you turned your legs over the side of the mattress and fought against the rising sick in your throat.

It was a mere misstep. You could not surrender to your own doubt. You had to watch over the prince, to make sure he was not abandoned. You recalled through the drunken haze how he had found you strewn across your own floor beside a puddle of wine. You were mortified. You should not have let him see you so.

You set your feet flat on the floor, pushing yourself up with a slight stagger. An ewer of water sat beside a crystal glass on the table, all remnants of your accident washed away from the floor. You crossed to the chair and sat, an orange place beside the jug and you knew who had left it. Legolas was wiser than his years, but his father had forced him to be.

You drank deeply before peeling into the fragrant citrus, the juice dribbling down your clumsy fingers. The tangy fruit settled your writhing stomach and stoked a hunger muted but the sick. Suddenly you were ravenous.

A knock interrupted your starved thoughts and you did not even call to your visitor before the handle clicked. Legolas appeared from behind the door, his drawn lips curving to a relieved smile. He closed the door gently behind him and neared with measured steps.

“You feel alright?” He glanced at the orange peels piled before you.

“Surprisingly well,” You gathered up the rinds and placed them in your empty glass, “Thank you for that.”

Legolas shrugged as he sat in the chair opposite you, “I knew you’d be sick. You nearly were last night,” He dragged a fingernail along the grain of the table, “My father always was in the morning. Mother used to give him oranges after the night of a banquet.”

“Your father…” You watched a single droplet trail down the ewer onto the table top, “ _Nessa er_ …” You shook your head; it was much too early for this conversation and your head was starting to ache again.

“I saw him this morning,” The prince said, “In his solar. When he saw me he closed his door.”

“Yes, well he’s–” You stopped yourself from cursing Thranduil in front of his own son, “Legolas, he doesn’t want me here anymore. He has told me to go many times and I suspect he will soon impose his wishes.”

“You’re leaving?” Legolas whimpered as his lips turned downward.

“Not if I can help it, but I may not have the choice,” You trembled as Ileen appeared in your mind once more, “I promised your mother,” You gripped your head as you leaned your elbows upon the table, “I promised her. I promised…”

“You can’t leave me,” Legolas whispered. You looked over and saw tears cradled in his eyes, “Not alone.”

“I know,” You sat up, fighting back the dissemblance which had so suddenly come over you, “I won’t. I promised your mother and I promise you, _nessa er_ ,” You reached over, your hand palm up in invitation. He took it and squeezed it with a sense of urgency. “But I am no longer in charge, though I never truly was… Your father has taken over his council once more and he may just think to expel me. He has not acted a king in months and yet, I think he may just don his crown for the very pleasure of seeing me gone.”

“If he does, I’ll go with you,” Legolas asserted, “He doesn’t want me, either.”

“Don’t say that,” You hissed, holding his hand firmly to make him meet your gaze, “Legolas, you listen to me. Your father needs you even if he doesn’t seem to realize it and you need him. I know how difficult this has been, your mother…my sister,” You paused, gulping to catch your breath, “I didn’t just stay for you because…” You struggled to keep yourself calm, “What you’re feeling, what I’m feeling, this sadness. The pit inside of us which only seems to deepen, your father has that, too. It’s why he is as he is.” You pressed your lips together as you thought of Thranduil, the grief he so effortlessly hid behind his arrogance, “If I didn’t know that, I would not have tried so hard to help him.”

A silence rose around you, the truth of your words sinking in. Through all you had gone through with the king, you could still not let go of that empathy which had bound you to him; the shared grief which chained you to Mirkwood. The absence of Ileen compelled you as much as your promise to Legolas.

“One day, he’ll realize it,” You vowed to the young prince but feared the king would be too late in his obstinance, “One day.”

* * *

Thranduil sat at his desk, running his slender finger along the rim of his glass. He stared at his desk and grimaced. He had spent the night in the straight-backed chair, having fallen asleep at some point but only briefly. He stared listlessly at the parchment which still sat exactly as it had been left by Y/N.

He couldn’t bring himself to lift a single sheet and focus on the inky scrawls. As much as he disclaimed his kingship, he didn’t truly feel like one. Most of his evening had been spent between fits of arrogant irritation with Y/N and resent towards himself. Even though he repeated his reasons to himself, he just couldn’t believe his actions to be justified.

And it was all because of her. Y/N was like a spectre, following him around to remind him of his many mistakes. How could he feel bad for her and detest her all at once? She only every set in him a deep bewilderment. She was a contradiction in herself.

Thranduil thought of Ileen and sighed, gulping back what was left of the dark wine glistening in his glass. He could barely recall her face when he summoned it, but he could hear her voice. Serene and calming. She had been the only person who had even brought him peace, though even she could not keep him from his own impetuosity. Ileen had been much too kind for that, unlike Y/N.

 _How was it that every time he thought of his beloved wife, he cursed sister came to mind just as swiftly?_  She was trying to weasel herself into a family she had no place in. She acted as if she were Legolas’ own mother, even had the guile to act as queen in her little stunt with his very council. 

_But he wasn’t acting as such, was he?_

He was afraid of his own son and worse, he was to encumbered in his own mourning to care about Mirkwood. If he woke tomorrow and it had all turned to dust, he suspected he’d not be too concerned. Perhaps, in a year or two, he would but not yet.

Thranduil closed his eyes and leaned his head against the carved chair, setting down his glass blindly. Another bottle done but he did not thirst for more; it only seemed to fuel his inner turmoil. His eye lids had grown heavier from the drink as well. Perhaps he could sleep for more than a few minutes.

Slowly, he sank into slumber, at first not realizing he was dozing. The stiff chair turn to mattress beneath him and he found himself abed with another. He looked over at Ileen as she laid beside him, her bright blue eyes staring back at him. He smiled and she smiled back and for once, all was right. 

He could see her again. He remembered what she looked like.

“My king,” She reached over to touch his cheek, “You look unwell. You shouldn’t drink so much.”

“I am sorry, my love,” He blushed at her admonishment. She had always detested his habit, though when she had been there, he had not been so indulgent.  _When she had been there…_

“How are you here?” He realized he was dreaming at once but it felt so real. It truly felt as if her fingers grazed his cheek.

“I’m not truly, only  _here_ ,” She touched his chest, “Only for a moment.”

Her smile fell and her lips began to change, her eyes too. Her features rearranged themselves and beside him laid Y/N. She did not smile or frown, nor did she speak. She merely stared back at him.

“Y/N, what are you–” He pushed her hand away from his chest, “Why are you here? Where is Ileen?”

“She’s dead, you know that already,” Her lips did not move but the answer came muffled as if someone were behind him, “How could you forget?”

“How are you…” He realized it was a voice he knew, but not Y/N’s.

Reluctantly, Thranduil turned to look over his shoulder, his wife now standing beside the bed where her husband and sister laid together. She smiled down at them but her features were blurred and he could no longer see her so clearly. 

_What shade of blue had her eyes shone? Had her lips been round or bowed?_

“No, don’t go,” He sat up and reached out to her as she began to walk away, still facing him as the distance grew between them, “You can’t leave me again.”

“You are not alone,” Her voice was harder to hear than before, “You need not be alone.”

Thranduil fell back onto his pillow, Y/N’s form still present on the mattress beside him. He looked to her and saw tears in her eyes. “Ileen,” She said in a broken whisper, “Ileen.”

He felt his own tears rising and reached out to wipe away those that sprang from Y/N’s eyes. But she slapped away his hand and recoiled away from him. “It was you! You! Your fault!”

She covered her face and sobbed, “No more! No more!”

Thranduil tried to touch her again but he was suddenly jolted, his eyes opening to the cluttered desktop. He looked around his solar, his door still closed and the curtains drawn. It was nearly noon, he didn’t need the sun to tell him that.

It was  _only_  noon, but not too late. Ileen had told him so. He was not alone. 

Not yet.


	10. Chapter 10

You watched Legolas as he parried and blocked his invisible foe. His stance was strong and well-balanced, his footwork even more graceful than when he had begun training. You smiled as his blonde hair flashed in the early afternoon sunlight. For an instant, you could see his mother, standing beside you, watching her son with a smile. And then she was gone.

You were much too impaired from the night before to join your nephew. It was better that you let him work on his own and determine what had yet to be refined. He was a fine swordsman but there was always more too learn. Even you were still learning. Since the battle, your left arm was much too sensitive to dream of carrying a shield. If you ever marched into a fray again, you would have to compensate for it.

Your ears pricked as a twig snapped but the sound did not come from Legolas’ boots. You turned and looked into the trees, the prince oblivious to your visitor. You watched the tall figure passing between the trees, unable to make out the king’ form until he was only feet away. Thranduil stepped into the clearing and stood silently, watching his son twirl and parry.

You pushed yourself from atop the flat rock which had become your habitual perch and approached him. His eyes flicked to you briefly as he observed his son and he lowered his head in acknowledgement of you. His demeanour was odd. Different than those last months. It was as if he had awoken from a long sleep, only then truly seeing what was before him.

“I need to speak with him,” He said in a hush, “There is much I need to say. Much I owe him.”

“You do,” You agreed, “He needs to hear it but…you may not be easily heard.”

“Father,” Legolas had finally ceased his exercise, the wooden sword raised towards the king, “What are you doing here? Are you to cancel our training once more?”

“No, no,” Thranduil answered his son as if he were the child, “I’ve only come to talk. Please, lower the sword.”

Legolas glared at his father, huffing as he slowly let the sword point sag before tossing it into the dirt roughly. “Fine, let’s talk.”

“Privately, if we may?” Thranduil had never asked permission of anyone save Ileen but he awaited Legolas’ assent with unease.

The prince shrugged and crossed his arms, the most he would allow his obstinate father. You caught Legolas’ eye and tilted your head, a silent goading. He pulled apart his arms and lowered them to his side, nodding and looking back to the king.

“I’ll give you some time,” You bowed your head and retrieved the prince’s disposed sword, “I’ll be by the river.”

You gave the prince a hopeful smile before turning to the trees, heading for the waterway not far from the clearing. It was there where you often rested after your training session and refilled the flask on your hip. It was far enough for them to have their privacy, but not so far that Legolas could not call to you.

You set aside the practice sword as you neared the river’s edge, staring into its crystalline waters as your thoughts whirred. You could tell something had changed in the king, but how?  _Had your spat finally shaken him from his mournful trance? Or had his sense merely returned to him at long last?_  Perhaps, it was only part of him which had re-emerged.

Or perhaps, he was convincing the prince to send you away. That would be just like him. To use his own son to avenge himself on you. To use the only person left to you in this realm against you. You shook your head as you knelt at the waterline, running your burnt fingers through the ripples as you tried to fend off your doubts.

You stood suddenly, a presence behind you. Thranduil watched you as you rose from beside the river and turned to him. You were ready to fight to your last breath for the prince. For yourself.

“Where is he?” You asked, looking around for Legolas.

“He is as he was,” Thranduil assured, “Waiting for us back there…but I did not only come to speak with him.”

You swallowed, your breath seizing as you eyed him warily. You watched as he neared tentatively. His lips opened and closed, his fingers twitched and he began to pace side to side before you. He reached up to scratch his bandaged forehead, planting his feet suddenly as he turned to face you.

“I’m sorry,” His voice was low but clear, “Here I am trying to compose my best apology but that is the simplest and most effective way to say it. I am sorry, Y/N. Very much so,” He sounded genuine, but your fears remained, “For all I’ve done against you. For the words I said to you in my anger with myself, for touching you unceremoniously and causing you pain.” His silver eyes glistened beneath his bandages, “I am sorry for thinking my own sadness greater than your own.”

“I…” You were unsure of how to answer. It was all you had needed to hear from him and yet, you struggled to accept it.

“You don’t have to forgive me. I did not come here because I thought you would, I only came to tell you what you deserve. I came to apologize and to thank you,” He continued, “Thank you for doing what I could not. For seeing to my son and my kingdom. To me, even. When you owed me nothing. Without you, it would all be gone. Mirkwood, Legolas, myself.” He paused and gulped, “Ileen would be proud of you.”

Your heart stopped as he said her name. In all this time, he had not been able to do so. It was as if him speaking it, made it all real. In that moment, it was a fresh wound. As painful as it had been when you had first heard the news. You held back the sudden flood of grief and calmed yourself, keeping your eyes on Thranduil.

“I forgive you,” Your voice sounded distant but the words were your own, “I know it’s been difficult. It’s been hard for all of us.” You gripped the wooden sword, digging the dulled tip into the dirt to steady yourself, “Ileen would be proud of you, too.”

“Not as proud as she’d be of my son,” He allowed, “You’ve made him strong. You helped him understand what I could not. You helped me understand. You kept the piece of Ileen in him alive.”

“She’s with all of us,” You breathed, the weight lifting from your breath, “She’s guiding us forward. We just have to follow.”

“Aunt Y/N,” Legolas nearly frightened you as he emerged from the trees, “Look.”

The prince giggled as he got closer, moving his arms so that a chipmunk could skitter up and across his shoulders. The creature crawled all over him like a kitten.

“What are–” Thranduil turned, his words drying in the air as he saw his son playing with the usually skittish animal.

“Ileen loved chipmunks,” You stepped up beside the king as he watched another appear beside his son and join its companion in accosting the boy, “She had nearly a dozen when we were young. I built her a little house for them…” The memories made you misty-eyed and the parity between the prince and his mother struck you, “I’ll build him one, too, if they don’t abandon him first.”

“That would be nice,” Thranduil spoke in an awed tone as a third chipmunk neared and sniffed his boot, “I’d like to help, if that’s alright?”

“No such thing as unwanted help,” You knelt slowly, setting aside the practice sword and held your hand out to the curious creature nosing at the king. It turned and sniffed your fingers, brushing its furry head against them before scurrying away, “But I warn you. Those damned critters only multiply.”

* * *

Legolas walked ahead of you and his father, the three chipmunks in the pockets of his tunic. The young prince waved his sword playfully ahead of him and spoke to the little animals as if they could understand him. It kept you from sinking back into mourning after the emotion of the afternoon.

The sun was growing lower in the sky as you neared the palace gates. The king had not said much along the way, content to watch his son in a rare moment of childish joy. You caught the prince by his collar before he could stumble on the steps and he giggled out a thank you. You warned him to be careful and shook your head as he burst through the front doors.

“He’ll be hungry soon. And you,” The king stated, “Ahem,” He cleared his throat, “I mean, I thought we could all sup together…if it was amenable?”

“Of course, I think Legolas would like that,” You smiled as the prince nearly toppled a statue, steadying it before it could crash to the floor.

“And you? You would not be…unfavourable?”

“Since when did you care so much,” You teased, “I hate eating alone, so the more the merrier. As long as there’s no wine.” You touched your stomach emphatically, “I’m done with that stuff for a while.”

“Me too,” Thranduil said.

You could not respond as you lunged forward to grab Legolas before he could collide with a large footed-vase. You shook your head at him and held out your hand to him. He smiled guiltily and surrendered, taking your hand.

“Now, we’re going to take you back to your chamber and you’re going to leave those little pests there while we have dinner,” You remonstrated, “We’ll work on finding them a proper home tomorrow.”

“I can keep them?” Legolas looked to his father in surprise.

“You may,” Thranduil nodded, “But they are yours to care for. Your aunt and I will have no business in seeing to them.”

“Oh, thank you,” He nearly leapt out of his shoes and you kept him from tripping once more. His excitement had eroded his usual elvish grace.

“Now, try not to fall over yourself,” You let go of him, “And lead the way.”

Legolas laughed and barreled down the corridor, not so far that you could not see him. You wished that Ileen could be here to see him. Of course, if she was still here, it wouldn’t be like this. The prince would never had lost his innocence and this moment would not be so rare.

“It’s as you said,” Thranduil interrupted your thoughts as if he had heard them, “She’s still with us…guiding us.”


	11. Chapter 11

Your fingers tapped on the table, your body betraying the oddity of the situation. A day ago, you would not have thought to be sitting across from Thranduil. Least of all, you would not have expected him to be so content. You watched the exposed tendons as they tensed and relaxed with the movement of your hand, listening to the slumbering breath which permeated the chamber.

Legolas was curled up on the sofa against the wall. His day had been so exciting that he had quickly succumbed to his fatigue after supper. He had been talkative, almost in disbelief that his father had not yet exiled him to his room. His voice had slowed and turned to snores, the calm after the storm.

Thranduil’s sudden shift, his newfound amenability, kept you wary. There was a time, when you had been tending to him and trying to force him through recovery, when you had thought he was improving. When a glimmer of hope had sparked within you and you had foreseen a return to form. But he had quickly dashed that optimism and you couldn’t help but fear he would sour once more.

“Y/N,” You looked up as Thranduil watched you; you had not noticed his observation nor heard what question he had asked.

“Hmm?” You stilled your hand and hid it under the table, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Are you well?” His concern still riled suspicion within you.

“I’m fine,” You shrugged, “I was just thinking,” You glanced over his bandaged face, holding his gaze until he shied away. You looked down at your hand, tracing the rippled scars along your fingers, trailing up your wrist. “May I ask you something? Without you taking offense?”

“I shall try not to vex myself,” He replied slyly, “What is it?”

“The bandages? Why do you–I mean, I tended to those burns myself. The last I saw, they were nearly healed, scars more than wounds,” He gulped as you spoke, tilting his head so that his hair shadowed his hidden face, “Why do you still wear them?”

“Mmm,” For a moment, his eyes flashed with anger, curtailed by a spark of fear. He hesitated and reach up to touch the dressing along his jawline, “You…your arm, so easy to hide. But me. I haven’t dared to look in the mirror because I know the horror I would see; myself. Healed, yes, but not as I was.”

“None of us are,” You ruminated, “But it doesn’t help to hold onto the past.”

His silver eyes bored into you but you refused to look away. As long as he shielded himself behind his bandages, he’d be weak to his self-pity. It was the last remnant of the darkness which had swallowed his life after Ilene’s death. His grief could not subside so long as he clung to it so ferociously.

He reached up, his longer fingers running over his cheekbone until he reached his forehead. He pulled loose the end of the dressing, a minor twitch before he began to unravel it. Slowly, he bared himself to you, one inch at a time. You had seen him before but there was a vulnerability to the act which made it seem a brand new revelation.

He let the length of bandage coil into a pile on the table and you stood wordlessly. You brought your chair closer, sitting closest to the scarred side of his face. The flesh no longer weeped but what remained was only ruins of the former king. The muscles of his cheek were exposed, his left eye was paler than his right, the parity made more obvious by the mottled skin. He shied away as you peered over his face.

“It has healed,” You declared, thinking aloud, “As my arm has. The dragon fire…I’ve read much of how it never ceases to touch us. We shall always have those phantom pains as if the flames still lick at our flesh. We will be marked forever for our tragedy.”

His eyes fell downward and he gripped the edge of the table. He breathed deeply and glanced over at his sleeping son. “A mirror?” He quavered, “If you will.”

You rose slowly, looking around yourself carefully. “In the vanity,” He waved his hand towards the aforementioned desk, the mirror above it covered with linen. “In the drawer, there is a hand mirror.” You crossed to the table and retrieved what he asked for; the mirror had once belonged to your sister.

You returned to him and sat on the edge of your chair, handing him the mirror face down. He nodded and took it, examining the delicate engravings along its back. He turned it reluctantly and held it up, looking at himself with dread. The exposed muscles of his cheeks tensed and his lip trembled as his eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you,” He whispered, “It is as terrible as I thought but I fathom it’d be worse without your tending to it. Even after I was so cruel.”

“I told you, it’s fine,” You kept your voice low as if you would wake Legolas, though he was so deeply asleep, nothing could reach him.

“How am I to be the king I was?” He lowered the mirror in despair, laying it on the table softly, “I cannot be…I–” He almost choked, and brought his hand to his mouth as if forcing back his emotions.

“You’re not, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be king,” You said, “May I?” You hovered your fingers beside his cheek and he nodded warily. You touched his flesh, the warmth of it, the contrast of smooth and rippled. You cupped his face with your hand and lowered it, intertwining your fingers anxiously. “I may have a solution, entirely superficial but more effective than those.” You alluded to the bandages strewn on the table.

“Alright…” He accepted with reserve, looking to you with a mix of hope and desperation.

“I’ve been studying cures, and while there are none to be had, there are tricks, ones I see little need for myself, but interesting nonetheless,” You forced your hands apart, trying to appear confident, “Glamours to hide the scarring. Beneath will still be flawed, but to any other, it would be as if the dragon’s breath had never grazed your skin.”

“And you can teach me?” He sat straight, brushing his hair back from his face.

“I can try,” You replied, “I’ve not done so myself but I have a book. The instructions are simple enough. I could take the prince to his chamber and return with it this night.”

“Tonight? Oh yes, as soon a possible,” He said leaning forward eagerly, for a moment, holding that same light which had sparked in Legolas not hours ago. “Thank you,” He rose and took your hands, pulling you to your feet, “Thank you, Y/N. I was so wrong to have ever been so loathsome.”

* * *

After Y/N has left, Thranduil had uncovered the mirror of the vanity and sat before it, staring at his reflection. It had taken some hours to perfect the glamour, but despite her yawns and sagging eyelids, Y/N had patiently read and re-read the instructions until he had it right. She had rolled up her sleeves and exposed her burned arm but had seemed not to notice for his own shame.

Yet, she hadn’t made him feel shameful. She didn’t shy away as he had expected, but she had seen him before. She had been the one to rub the soothing balm upon his burns and to check upon him, even in his darkest days. But he had been so unkind to her and for that, she should have seen him as the most repulsive creature. He truly saw himself as such.

He did not fear so much the eyes of his subjects, let them see the sacrifice he had made on their behalf. The scars of having fought beside and for his people. What frightened him most was the thought of his own son laying eyes on what remained of his father. For how much he had pushed his son away, he did not want to do so again. He wanted to the be the king and father Ilene had known him to be.

And the thought of Ilene, the letters of her name spelled across his mind, the visions of her eyes and soft pink lips, left him with peace. No longer did the pain overcome him and stab his heart so entirely, but instead he looked back upon the time they had been blessed to be together with mournful reverence. He should be so thankful as to have had her for his queen for even a single day.

He was trying now. For her, for himself, for Legolas. Trying to move forward knowing there was no going back. Trying to look onward instead of hiding in shadows. Mirkwood would not fall so long as he was king, and neither would he. There was still glory to be had in this life.

His lips twitched as he kept himself from smiling. There was more left of Ilene in this world than he had known. It was not just her son, but her sister. Y/N and her piercing eyes, her unyielding stature, and unbending will. So unlike her sister and yet the same tenderness was hidden within her. All this time, she had shown it and Thranduil had been too blinded by his own misery to see it.

He could still feel her fingertips upon his cheek. He had been surprised at how gently she had touched him, how kindly she had looked upon him. Without pity or spite, though she owed him both. She had looked to him with a want to help him. Without thought for herself. Even as he watched her grimace as a pang tore through her arm when she bent it; the same pain which encircled his eye socket or the tendrils of his shoulder from time to time.

And now, he was tired. Truly tired. Not that fatigue which comes with grief or self-pity, but that which comes from living. From being with those you love and seeing the world around you without the tint of the past. The tiredness which holds within it longing. Longing for the morning, for tomorrow, and the day after. For the light which comes beyond the dark.


	12. Chapter 12

You were waiting. After a year of harmony, you were still waiting. You had been certain the accord would break; the tension would snap like a twig and leave the realm broken once more. But Thranduil had surprised you. He had not returned to his darkness or his binging. Rather he was moderated in almost all that he did.

The king had appointed you a seat on his council. He had deemed it his thank you for your deeds during his grieving. It was a welcome surprise after he had been prepared to exile you for the same act. It offered you distraction; a purpose beyond mourning all you had lost.

Besides, it was better to be working with the elven king than against him.

You sat at the council table, all seats empty but your own. The daily sessions had adjourned an hour ago but you were relegated to the airy chamber for lack of a better space. You could easily lock yourself away in your chamber and toil there but you found it hard to focus. Thus you remained when all others had left for the comfort of their personal offices.

You didn’t mind so much. The council chamber was quite large and you could pull back the drapes to let in the sunshine. The light helped you track the time and kept you from spending all night there; not that it didn’t happen occasionally.

You stood to stretch your legs, the muscles cramping from the stone chair. You walked as you read, nearly catching yourself on the corner of the table. You turned back and barely avoided colliding with the back of the door as it opened. Your boots slid on the stone and you steadied yourself with the closest chair.

Thranduil swept in, his imperious gaze searching the chamber until his eyes found you, the corners of his lips twitching. “Y/N,” He greeted, “I was hoping you were still here.”

“Where else would I be?” You lowered the document with a wry grin.

“As it happens, that very issue has brought me here today,” He said, leaning on the back of the chair before correcting himself. He seemed to be struggling to find his bearing, “Which is to say, I’ve found you your very own office.”

“Oh?” You were surprised but hopeful. It would be nice to get out of the council chambers. It made you feel like a novice compared to the other counsellors.

“Come on, I’m sure you haven’t time to waste,” He urged, “You seem enraptured in your work and I’d hate to keep your from it.”

You nodded, hiding your confusion.  _Was the king being pernicious with you?_  You didn’t know why, but as of late it seemed like he was in unusually impish mood. He had not been so jovial since his days with Ileen. It only added to your impatience for the world to crumble around you.

It all was too good to be true. For how much you had fought to pull Thranduil from the depths, it was all too convenient. You were still growing used to not fighting with him, but you were happy for it. Happy to see him spending time with his son and minding his kingdom as he had done before.

Yet, it also filled you with guilt. Ileen was gone and it was starting to feel as if she had never been there. Her absence was growing normal and you didn’t want to forget her. You couldn’t. Your sister was the very reason for your remaining in Mirkwood, but you hadn’t wanted to replace her.

You gathered your papers and turned to the king, waiting for him to lead the way. He stood patiently, kicking himself into action the moment your eyes met his. He open the door, holding it for you as he waved you through.

“I am sorry it took so long,” He said as he followed you, “You should not have been a year in there but I had a lot to catch up on…there would have been much more had it not been for you.”

“You’ve thanked me enough,” You shrugged, “Truly, I did it for Legolas more than you.”

“Whatever the reason, you did it,” He carried on and you began to recognize your path; _it couldn’t be_.

You walked silently, waiting for you to take a wrong turn or circle back in error, but Thranduil pressed on. He stopped you before the carved door, the sigil of your homeland engraved on its face. You sighed, staring breathlessly at the golden leaf pressed into the birch.

“No,” You nearly whispered, “This was Ileen’s, I can’t.”

“You must, “ He said somberly, “It’s not being used and it would be worse to leave it vacant. It would only serve to remind us of our loss and I like to believe that she would want you to have it before anyone else. You’re the only person I can think of deserving of it.”

“I don’t know,” You hesitated, the papers slipping from your arms.

You knelt to gather your mess and the king joined you, his fingers grazing yours as he did. He pulled back as if he had been shocked, clearing his throat as he held out the papers to you. As you rose, he looked away as if avoiding your gaze, fixing his eyes on the door.

“Allow me,” He reached out and turned the ovular handle, pushing the door inward, “I had it dusted and cleaned. I have had Ileen’s possessions packed away for Legolas. When he is older, it will be up to him to tend to them. Of course, the pens and other stationary I’ve kept here for your own use. It’s better the inkwells don’t dry up and the parchment doesn’t turn brittle.”

“Thank you,” You slowly entered, almost reluctant to do so. It was almost as if you were stepping into the past.

Many times you had sat across from Ileen in this office; listening to her joys and woes. And there were those days when you had argued like any sisters. Now it seemed empty. Not just without her but without all those touches which made it hers. All her paintings, her figurines, her books; every inch of her was gone.

“Feel free to make it your own,” Thranduil said and you sniffled; surprised at the sudden wave of emotion within you, “Oh my, Y/N, I didn’t–Are you alright?”

“It’s not you, it’s…” Your hand was trembling as you wiped your eyes, holding back the flow which threatened, “It’s just so real now. With all my work and Legolas and…you, I hadn’t had much time to linger on the thought. I missed her, I knew she was gone but I just–There’s a hole in me, in my life, where she should be.”

“You’ve done so much. Everything she would’ve done,” He neared, his hand hovering over your shoulder before he rescinded it. He wanted to comfort you but he seemed afraid of you; as if your grief was contagious. “It’s alright to take a break. We all need to rest.”

“No, no,” You shook your head, inhaling deeply, trying to free yourself of your sister’s specter looming in the corner, “It’s fine. I’m fine. We cannot fret over that which we cannot change for then it changes us.”

“Hmm,” Thranduil stared at you, his lips slightly open as he thought, “Ileen used to say that.”

“She did,” You gave a sad smile, “And she was right, as usual.” You looked around, nearing the barren mantle along the hearth, “Her absence  _has_  changed us all.”

“Well…” The king began cautiously, “Will you have dinner with Legolas and I tonight? He wanted me to extend the invitation.”

“…Maybe,” You rubbed your neck, “I don’t know. I have so much to do.”

“You can leave til tomorrow, it would mean a lot to the boy,” He countered, “He thinks you don’t have any time for him anymore…It’s a bad habit to form.”

“And you would know well,” You sighed, recalling the king’s shunning his own child, “I guess I should.”

“I took him to the forest today to train,” Thranduil said brightly, “He complained of his new arm’s master so I thought I’d take the time to teach him myself. You taught him well. His footwork is almost better than mine.”

“He still has far to go,” You crossed your arms as you leaned against the desk, “He’s young.”

“He does, but you wouldn’t know,” Thranduil argued, “When was the last you sparred with him?”

“Is this why you’ve gifted me this office?” You frowned, “So you can nag me in private?”

“Well, it helps,” He grinned, “But no, you’ve earned it.” He neared, planting his feet before you as his silver eyes bore into you, “Please, come to dinner. It’ll keep Legolas off my back for a little while.”

“Fine,” You accepted, uncrossing your arms, “You’re right, I owe it to him. And I do miss the little rascal.”

“Good,” Thranduil nearly exclaimed, correcting himself of his unexpected excitement, “He’ll be so happy.”

“I hope so,” You gave a half-hearted smile, “I’ll see you then.”


	13. Chapter 13

You waited outside Legolas’ door, eager to surprise the elfling. Thranduil was right; you hadn’t seen the child much in the last months. When at last the door did creak open, your nephews face was brightened by a thrilled smile. You couldn’t help but mirror his expression, offering your hand with a small chuckle.

“You ready for dinner?” You asked as he took your hand, “Your father is ever impatient.”

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” He pulled his door closed with his free hand, “You’ve been so busy.”

“I know. I’m terribly sorry, Legolas,” Your smile died as regret filled your chest, “But I’m going to try to make more time.”

“Will you practice with me tomorrow?” He asked hopefully.

“Tomorrow?” You bit your lip as you considered the stack of papers waiting for you in your new solar, “Of course…everything else can wait.”

“Thank you, Aunt Y/N,” He said gleefully, “Did father ask you to dinner?”

“He did,” You confirmed, “But only because of you,  _nessa er_.”

“But…” His pale face contorted in thought, “Father is nicer now. And he likes you.” He lowered his voice as you carried on down the hall, “He misses you.”

“Misses me?” You laughed, “I don’t think so.”

You stopped before the king’s receiving chamber and knocked. It opened almost reactively as an attendant waved you inward. You guided Legolas to the table, a third chair awaiting Thranduil’s arrival. You sat and glanced over the platters, leaning on the arm of your chair. You forgot what it was like to relax.

“My son,” Thranduil appeared in the doorway, dismissing the attendant as he swept into the chamber, “Y/N.”

“You seem…happy?” You mused.

“Somewhat,” He answered vaguely as he lowered himself into his chair, “Glad to be done with court.”

You rubbed your chin as you looked back to the table. You noticed that there was no bottle of wine; only lemon water. It gave you hope that your work had all been worth it. The kingdom had its king back.

“Y/N?” Thranduil’s voice brought you back. You hadn’t even heard what he had said and his eyes bored into you.

“Sorry, I’m a bit tired,” You sat up and crossed one leg over the other.

“Legolas just told me you agreed to practice with him tomorrow. I wondered if I would be remiss to invite myself along?”

“Uh, no not at all. Though, it would be his decision,” You answered, “How about it, Legolas?”

“I suppose,” He grinned at his father tauntingly.

“He supposes,” Thranduil shook his head, “I daresay, he’s inherited the worst of my genes.”

“You said it,” You had not seen the two of them so comfortable with the other since before Ileen’s death. For an instant, you felt a stab of pain. It occurred to you that you had taken her place. She should have been sitting there, fawning over her family. You were an imposter.

“He takes more after his mother, thankfully,” Thranduil drawled as he filled his glass with water, “And his aunt.”

“I don’t think he’s so stubborn as me,” You smiled at Legolas, “He is his own person. Genuine and caring. You should be so proud.”

“Enough,” Legolas hunched down embarrassed, “You two are so gross.”

“Oh,  _nessa er_ , my little prince,” You teased, “You are so humble.”

“Bleh,” He grimaced as he began to fill his plate with vegetable, “I almost liked it better when you hated each other.”

“We didn’t…hate each other,” Thranduil countered awkwardly, “We only disagreed.”

“Exactly.” You agreed with a laugh, “Very passionately so.”

* * *

After the tart was served, the day had hit you and you were ready to retire. Legolas had talked so excitedly during dinner; of all he had done since you had the chance to be together and his hopes for the next day’s venture, that he was about to fall asleep in his dessert. His father listened as Ileen would have and you watched him intently, knowing that she was smiling upon the family she had left behind.

“Well,” You pushed away your half-eaten tart, “I think it is time we go before we are asleep in our chairs, wouldn’t you say,  _nessa er_?”

“No,” He whined, “I don’t wanna…” He yawned loudly and suddenly, “Go to bed.”

“No, but you should,” You replied, “So, say good night.”

“I shall walk with you, actually,” Thranduil said as he stood, straightening his jacket, “I need to stretch my legs.”

“Very well,” You rose and Legolas followed reluctantly.

The prince took your hand and his father’s as you set off down the corridor. He walked between you, dragging his feet as he tried to fight his yawns. Few words were exchanged in your communal fatigue but it was a peaceful silence. When you stopped outside Legolas’ chamber he pouted and tried to cling to you in revolt.

“Go on, son,” Thranduil tugged him gently, “If you don’t sleep, you’ll be too tired for practice.”

“Hmmp,” He crossed his arms and glared at his father, “Fine…good night.”

“Good night,” You ruffled his hair, annoying him further.

“Good night,” Thranduil echoed and opened his son’s door, “Sleep tight.”

With one last grumpy sigh, Legolas disappeared into his chamber and left you with the king. You waited for him to say something as silence filled the air around you, your own brain overworked and blank. He smiled at you, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he clasped his hand before him. He looked away, almost shyly, a tension chasing away the previous calm.

“Uh,” He began, “Shall we?”

He waved his arm down the corridor towards your chambers. You nodded and stepped towards him. He hesitated before he offered his arm and you stared at it a moment before accepting it. You had been so enmeshed in your work, you hadn’t taken the time to appreciate all that had changed. You had become the recluse; the one who was missing out.

You stopped before your door, releasing Thranduil who had yet to say another word. His jaw clenched as you turned to him, his pale eyes searching. Without Legolas, it was so…strained. Yet, you had never had an issue before. You had ordered the king around like a common peasant and even dumped his wine from his own window.  _Why now were you so harried for words?_

“Thank you…for dinner,” You stuttered, “It was nice.”

“Thank you for coming,” He smiled, leaning against the wall but immediately pushing himself straight. He couldn’t seem to figure himself out.

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow for practice?” You offered, “Um, good night then.”

“…Good night,” He lingered as you pressed down on the door handle, unlatching it and pushing inside, “Tomorrow.”

You turned back with a weak smile as you entered your chamber and he bowed his head, turning away slowly. You closed the door clumsily, standing in the dark as you listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway.

* * *

Ileen was sitting in the chair, her hands on the table. You saw her even before you opened your eyes. You sensed her. You sat up in bed, staring at your sister’s spectre. It was deathly cold and you shivered as you pulled the blanket from your body.

“Sister,” Her voice was hollow, distant, “Come. Sit.”

You obeyed as if you weren’t controlling your own body. You sat stiffly across from her, staring at the white orbs which had taken the place of her once luminous eyes. Her hair hung in limp shanks and black veins were visible through her sickly flesh.  _Was this truly her or a trick of your imagination?_

“I have been watching you. So restless have I been,” Her lips moved slowly, carefully, “You’ve kept me from the sleep beyond.”

“I tried, Ileen,” You hooked your fingers together as if in prayer, pleading with her, “I am trying.”

“I know, I know,” She said, “I have seen. You’ve kept my child safe, as you promised. And my husband…you’ve saved him from himself.”

“Then why do you tarry, sister? Why do you haunt me?” You asked desperately.

“I am sad to leave this life behind; to leave my son, my husband, and you, my sister. It hurts, but I must. Yet I cannot leave it undone.” She lowered her head, “Do not feel guilty. Do not pity me. You may miss me but you need not fear me.”

She raised her head and she was as she had been when she was alive. Lustrous locks, shining eyes, rosy lips, glowing skin. She smiled sadly. “Do not be ashamed of your love, for I do not begrudge you for your own heart.”

“What do you mean?”

“You must let me rest, sister. For both of our sakes, let me go,” She begged. She reached over to touch you, her fingertips both fiery and icy upon your flesh, “You don’t have to be me, because he loves  _you_. I shall ever be in his heart, but he is not mine anymore.”

“No…” You breathed, trembling, “Don’t say that. He is your husband.”

“He was but you both must let me go,” She closed her eyes, a single tear beading on her cheek, “You have each other now. Love one another and love my son.”

“You can’t–it is wrong,” You argued, your own tears burning at your eyes.

“How can love be wrong? It is all I ever hoped for. For you, for him. I cannot stand between you any longer,” She removed her hand from yours and stood, “Y/N, I am dead. Bury me for good.”

You awoke with a shudder, breathing frantically as you sat up. You looked around the chamber, moonlight streaming in through the window. Your heart quickened as you saw the chair overturned on your floor; the one which Ileen had sat in your dream. It could not be.

You stood, a night breeze whisking in and sending a shiver through you. You neared the chair and picked it up. Your eye was caught by an unusual shape upon the table and your hand hovered over the silver locket. Your sister had gifted you the necklace as a girl and you had hidden it away after her death. You had not dared take it out since.

Ileen had made herself,  _but was she right?_


End file.
